


King of the Mountain

by sarahstarkiller



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: & steve stans queen, 1980s, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy loves Steve's uniform, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Steve, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Gay Billy Hargrove, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Fixation, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Smoking, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Nail Bat, Steve does not, Steve's always nervous, Summer Vacation, billy is a disaster gay, billy loves horror, billy stans metallica, likely underage drinking, you know who that's about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahstarkiller/pseuds/sarahstarkiller
Summary: The Upside Down isn't done with Hawkins. It's going to take one Chief of Police, a gaggle of nerds and their magical friend, one babysitter with a mean swing, and one curly-haired teenage boy with rage for days to rid the town of its disease. Bonus points if someone falls in love.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve is exhausted after work. It’s June and school just ended, meaning sweaty, awkward tweens started pouring in at about four o’clock and hung around till close. He has to listen to Dustin curse and complain as he shooes him and the rest of the party members away.

 

“Can’t you just do this one favor for us? Jesus Christ, Steve, don’t be such an asshole-”

 

“Hey!” Steve scolds Dustin, pointing an accusatory finger at him while his other hand rests on his hip. “Watch your mouth, shithead. And I’ve already told you guys a million times that I can’t just give out free ice cream whenever you want it.”

 

Mike’s pouting. “But-”

 

“I don’t wanna hear it, Wheeler. Now,” Steve throws the wet rag he was using to wipe down tables over his shoulder and guides the rascals toward the door. “Get out.”

 

The kids groan and mutter their complaints, yet they seem to finally give up. But then Will turns toward Steve, the softest look on his face, eyes wide and focused on the floor in front of him.

 

“It’s for El,” he explains meekly. “The ice cream, I mean. Since Hopper wouldn’t let her come tonight.”

 

At first, Steve is shocked by the fact that Will said more than three words to him (Lucas and Max say it’s because Will has a crush on him, but Steve usually laughs that theory off because Will is just shy). Then, he feels his heart melt and before he knows it he’s scooping strawberry ice cream into a container for Eleven.

 

Steve smiles as he hands it to Will. “Here ya go, Byers.” He ruffles his hair and Will grins, turning bright red, mumbling his thanks.

 

“Yeah, thanks, Steve,” Mike takes the ice cream from Will.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Steve waves it off. “Don’t get used to it, though. I only did it because El’s my favorite.”

 

Max laughs and steps forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks, Steve!” She squeezes the air out of him.

 

Apparently the kids think it’s hilarious because they all start to wrap themselves around him in a deathgrip of a group hug, thanking him over and over again. Steve hugs them back, but then he really can’t breathe so he shoves his wet rag into their faces, making them jerk away, cursing.

 

“You’re all weirdos,” he laughs fondly.

 

“So are you!” Lucas insists.

 

“Steve Harrington’s a weirdo!” Dustin yells, running into the vacant mall, Lucas on his tail.

 

“Let’s go, Will. Nancy’s probably pissed she had to wait. Bye, Steve. See ya tomorrow, Max.” Mike departs with Will following, waving goodbye to both of them.

 

Steve finishes cleaning up which is pretty easy considering Robin did the bulk of it before she left. When he collects his bag, he notices Max is still sitting there, skateboard under her feet as she rolls it idly from side to side.

 

“Hey,” Steve calls. She jerks her head up and looks at him. “I can take you home, if you need me to.”

 

She makes a face that tells him she had a ride set. He can only guess about who was supposed to pick her up. But then she nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

 

“No problem, Zoomer.” She smiles at the nickname, or maybe she’s just pleased that he’s been trying to use their slang even though it feels like he’s speaking a foreign language. Either way.

 

They walk out the back door and toward Steve’s car. He opens his door but before either of them can get in, the unmistakable roar of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro is heard as the car whips around the corner to the backlot of the Starcourt Mall. It comes to a screeching halt and the window rolls down.

 

“Let’s go, Max,” Billy demands impatiently. His gaze turns over to Steve and he fixes him with a cold glare, making him want to squirm.

 

Max closes Steve’s passenger door, something sad in her eyes when she says, “Thanks anyway, Steve.” She walks to Billy’s car and climbs in.

 

Billy gives Steve a quick once-over before rolling his window up and speeding away. He watches the car disappear, feeling strange and uneasy.

 

It’s been months since the  _ incident  _ at the Byers’s and so far, Billy has kept his promise to leave Max and her friends alone. That’s not to say he’s not still a dick; he totally is. Whenever he got the chance to bother Steve, he took it. He’d let the locker room door shut in his face after gym, he’d shove past him in the hallway, cut him off in the parking lot after school, sit right behind him and tap his pencil against his desk in English because he  _ knew  _ it distracted Steve. On a day in late May, there was a food fight in the cafeteria which wasn’t initiated by Billy, but he still took the opportunity to hurl a carton of chocolate milk at Steve, ruining his favorite yellow shirt.

 

But they’d graduated and all the dumb shit that happened in high school could be forgotten,  _ for the most part _ . It’s just weird, the distaste Billy still harbors for him like he can’t let it go, whatever  _ it _ is. He’s done nothing to the guy yet Billy’s still set on bothering him, on inconveniencing him.

 

And that makes him feel strange. He’s not sure why being pinned by his eyes makes him twitch, since he knows Billy won’t attack him again (or at least hopes he won’t). The dynamic between them isn’t necessarily hostile, just cold and uncaring. Distant, and Steve can’t understand why Billy’s glare makes him feel so exposed, like if he ever dares to meet his eye, he’ll disappear. Sometimes he prefers the hostility and the blatant aggression from all those months ago. That had been alive and warm, something tangible, but this new situation was just empty. Steve hated feeling empty.

 

-

 

Occasionally, Steve will let himself wonder what the hell he’s doing with his life. Like now, it’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and he’s on his way to the arcade to pick the kids up because apparently he’s their babysitter now even though they’re too old for one. He likes to believe he’s a cool babysitter and that they keep him around because he’s fun, and not because he’s a pathetic loser with no friends and they only pity him.

 

Sometime in the spring, Steve decided to apply for a job at the new mall for a few reasons, one being that he didn’t want to depend on his parents for money. He’s been seeing less and less of them lately, anyway. Another big reason was that he was going to take a gap year; instead of applying to colleges undecided, he chose to just work. He knew that not being in school would make him feel listless and of even less importance than he normally did, so having a job was vital in reassuring him of his self worth. He has to have a purpose, to feel like he’s doing something that matters, no matter how small that something may be. So, working at Scoops Ahoy, combined with entertaining the kids whenever he can, provides that sense of purpose.

 

But even this distraction can’t always keep him from feeling lost in the world, tumbling around with no direction. He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice the dark blur illuminated by his headlights, until its face is opening and he’s swerving, eyes wide with a scream caught in his throat.

 

He didn’t turn quickly enough, though, because he hits the creature and hears its whimper before he slams on his brakes. He’s paralyzed with fear, he can’t move or even blink, his grip is painfully tight on the wheel. But eventually he heaves a shuddering breath and puts the car in reverse, backs up and puts the car in park. He sits rigidly for minutes, breath shallow.

 

And then he realizes that  _ thing  _ might still be alive and it’s enough to fill him with adrenaline so quickly he feels sick, his saliva is thick in his mouth, almost sweet he’s so afraid. He forces himself to take a few more deep breaths, both to stop himself from vomiting and to prepare himself. His features are steely when he steps out of the car.

 

He tries to focus on the music still flowing softly from his speakers when he rounds to the front of his car, sliding against it, but the sound is drowned out by the ringing in his ears.  _ The bat’s in the trunk. _

 

Surely if it’s alive, it would’ve attacked him by now, or at least made a noise. The hope doesn’t keep his legs from shaking, doesn’t correct the sinking feeling in his gut. But with one last deep breath, with one more reassurance to himself, he turns that part of his brain off, the part that tells him to be afraid and he turns and sees it lying there.

 

It’s dead. The motionless, moist body of the monster is lying in a heap on the road, his headlights a spotlight. Hardly thinking, he walks to his trunk but his gait is jerky and then he’s bending at the waist, hands on his knees as he gags, thick ropes of saliva flowing from his mouth and splattering on the concrete in front of him. The adrenaline is suddenly lost, tasting sweet as it leaves his body. Only fear is left for him to chew on. He stops gagging and spits some more out until his mouth feels so dry it almost hurts, wipes his lips and pants. He’s covered in sweat as he opens his trunk and takes what he needs.

 

Walking back to the creature, swinging the bat in his hand, he focuses again on the music that’s playing so he doesn’t have to hear the  _ squelch _ of the body as he brings the weapon down onto it as hard as he can. Just to make sure the bastard’s really dead. Satisfied, he takes the blanket and wraps it around the body. He picks it up with a grunt, doesn’t breathe in the scent of death and decay that these fuckers always carry with them and shoves it into his trunk, the bat following suit.

 

After shutting the trunk, he slips back into the driver’s seat and speeds away, his thoughts not coming back to him until a few minutes have passed. When he feels mostly normal again, his legs shake like he’s cold, despite his rolled down windows which let in the night’s balmy air. He tries to focus on that as he pulls into the parking lot of the arcade.

 

He doesn’t want to stay in his car, knowing that  _ thing  _ is in there with him. The fact that it’s dead does nothing to ease his anxiety. So he steps out and tries not to look like a deer caught in the headlights, even though he knows his eyes are wide and his hair is wild from his open windows. He moves to rest against the hood of his car, gulping in breaths full of summery night air.

 

“The hell are you so twitchy for?”

 

A familiar voice startles him; he flinches and actually processes the fact that he’s not alone.

 

Billy Hargrove is parked a few spaces over, arm hanging out of his window with a burning cigarette between his fingers. He’s raising his brows at Steve like he’s either genuinely concerned, or about to laugh at him.

 

“What?” Steve demands, sounding much stronger than he feels. At least he’s not so afraid, now that he’s not by himself. “What do you mean, I’m fine. Christ. Hello to you, too, by the way.” He glances at Billy and crosses his arms.

 

“Hello,” Billy responds and Steve hears the sly grin in his voice but looks just to make sure he can see it, too. He can. Billy is silent for a moment as he ashes his cigarette. Then, “You’re shaking like a chihuahua, Harrington.”

 

Steve is almost scared when he only detects a small amount of malice in Billy’s tone, as opposed to his natural way of saying everything with a venomous bite. Still, he responds with, “And what about it? Jesus, what difference does it make to you anyway?” He’s surprised by his own voice.

 

Billy looks surprised, too, for a fraction of a second. Then he narrows his eyes and grins, wide, snakelike. “If you drop dead right here I’ll have a lot of explaining to do to the police, and I’d prefer not to waste my Friday night like that.”

 

Steve huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you’re so busy these days.”

 

He immediately regrets his words and the spiteful tone he used to deliver them. Billy only raises his brows and grins wider, but Steve feels bad. He’s not a mean person, not even when dealing with someone as insufferable as Billy. And he doesn’t want his insult to be misinterpreted, not after what  _ happened _ with Tommy and-

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, throat tight. “I’m just...tense.”

 

“You don’t say.”

 

Steve looks over at him. He’s taking a drag on his cigarette, eyes trained on Steve for a beat before he leans back against the headrest and lets the smoke curl up from his mouth. Steve’s gaze drags up from his throat to the gray fog around his eyes, and then he’s slow to look away when Billy’s eyes dart over to him, tongue running over his bottom lip in that obnoxious way he does it.

 

Billy holds the cigarette out. “Here,” he offers coolly, as if someone else told him to do it and he was reluctantly complying.

 

Steve is surprised but he scrambles away from his car and takes the dangling cigarette. As he inhales, letting the smoke burn his throat while soothing him all the same, he actually notices the music coming from Billy’s car. It’s heavy metal and it’s aggressive and  _ very  _ noticeable and he vaguely worries if he’s going insane. Being unaware of his surroundings and everything.

 

“So what’s got you all out of sorts, anyway?”

 

Steve takes another drag and opens his mouth, ready to give a bullshit answer, but he’s cut off by Dustin’s booming voice.

 

“Steve! You won’t believe Max’s new highscore!”

 

He whips around and sees the kids ambling toward him, and between the sight of their happy faces and the smooth, burning sensation of the cigarette, he’s feeling significantly calmer.

 

“I’m sure I won’t,” he laughs, earning himself a shove from Max herself.

 

The kids are all talking to him at once and for a moment, he’s happy, but then he remembers the dead demo-dog in his trunk and again he feels uneasy and sick. He takes another drag to steady himself.

 

“Steve!” El gasps, brows pulled together in disapproval. “You’re  _ smoking _ ?”

 

“Uh, no. No, I’m just...holding it. For him,” he gestures to where Billy’s sitting in his car with uncharacteristic patience, his face impassive, blinking slowly. He turns back to the kids and lowers his voice. “We have a Code Red, you guys.”

 

All their faces turn serious in unison, like he flipped a switch. He would laugh if the situation was less disturbing.

 

“We need details, Steve,” Mike insists.

 

“Maxine!” Billy shouts, apparently no longer tolerant of their dawdling, totally oblivious to the heaviness that now hangs in their shoulders, the anxiety in their guts.

 

Max looks sharply over to Billy, fixing him with a stare as intense as his own. “Just a second!” Then, to the group, “We have to discuss this somewhere less...populated.”

 

Wordlessly, they agree, and the kids split up between Steve’s car and Billy’s. Steve follows Lucas and Max to the blue Camaro. He leans down into the window.

 

“Bring them to the junkyard. We have to go over a few things there, if you don’t mind.” His voice leaves no room for argument, though, which he himself is shocked by.

 

But Billy’s glaring, that cold look that makes him feel transparent. “Don’t give me orders, Harrington,” he warns, jaw set. And then, amazingly, his eyes seem to soften while his face remains hard. Quite an unusual sight.

 

“It’s not an order. It’s a strong suggestion.” With that, he takes the last pull from Billy’s cigarette before tossing it on the pavement, and turns to go to his own car.

 

“What the fuck is this about? Some cult shit, is that it, Harrington?” Billy sounds mostly confused, anger only lining his words. He’s likely taken aback by Steve’s boldness, like Steve forgot all about Billy’s capabilities.

 

Steve looks at him and shakes his head. “Just  _ drive _ , Hargrove, Jesus.” Then he grins a little, saying, “You don’t have anything better to do, right?”

 

Billy must be losing his edge or something because he just rolls his eyes and says, “I don’t know where the junkyard is.”

 

“Just follow me.”

 

-

 

At the junkyard, Steve takes a shuddering breath before getting out of the car. Billy’s parked behind him, headlights illuminating Steve and the kids as they stride reluctantly to the trunk. Steve turns to them before opening it.

 

“I hit this on my way to the arcade. I made sure that it was dead, so…”

 

The kids watch with wide and fearful eyes as Steve opens the trunk and reaches for the blanket. Before he can reveal what’s wrapped inside of it, there’s a shout which makes them all whip their heads to look back.

 

“Hey!” It’s Billy, now standing outside of his car, leaning against the door with suspicious eyes as he watches them. “The hell’s going on?”

 

Steve knows he’s addressing him, but Max answers. “Nothing. Just get back in the car.”

 

Billy glares at her. “Excuse me? I don’t think that’s the way this works, Max.” He’s stalking closer to them now, looking predatory.

 

Steve unconsciously moves to hide the mass in his trunk, lowering the door as he watches Billy step up to them. “No, really,” he tries to reason but his voice isn’t steady. “I don’t think you’ll want to see what’s inside.”

 

Billy’s face contorts. “Fuck’s in there, a body? What do you have to hide, Harrington?”

 

Steve glances at the kids, silently asking for help in explaining all this without  _ really  _ explaining it.

 

“If you really want to see what’s inside,” Lucas speaks carefully, “we have to warn you of a few things.”

 

“Alright, cut the shit, Sinclair.” Billy crosses his arms over his chest and looks to Steve before jerking his head toward the half-closed trunk. “Show me already.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to try and say why he can’t just show him without preamble, but only a squeaking noise comes out. Having had enough, Billy huffs and rolls his eyes, pushes Steve aside and makes to open the trunk. Except he can’t. His arm jerks and strains as he tries to lift the door, but the trunk won’t open. His eyes are wide in confused horror.

 

“No.” Eleven speaks, face set in a determined stare at Billy as blood drips from her nostril.

 

Billy looks at her, eyes crazed as his mouth hangs open. “What…”

 

Steve almost feels bad that he has to be introduced to Eleven like this. Almost.

 

“Lucas is right,” she says simply, wiping her nose with her thumb. “You have to promise us.”

 

Billy lets go of the trunk and steps back, looking at Eleven before turning to Steve, questioning. Steve just shrugs helplessly.

 

“Alright,” he shrugs, giving in. “What do I have to promise you freaks?” He’s still looking at Eleven.

 

“You have to promise you will never discuss what you’re about to see with  _ anyone _ ,” Dustin declares.

 

“It’s for your own safety,” Mike adds.

 

Billy squints as he turns to look at Max. “You have questionable taste in friends.”

 

“ _ Billy _ ,” Steve warns, fixing him with the most serious look he can.

 

“Alright, shitbirds,” Billy concedes with a roll of his eyes, voice raising. “Open it already.”

 

But they aren’t satisfied. They stare at him, faces expectant.

 

“ _ Shit _ , fine!” Billy’s hands rest on his hips. “I promise I won’t tell anyone what I’m about to see. This better be good, Harrington.”

 

“It’s...something,” Steve admits quietly, mostly to himself, as El lets the door rise, revealing the half-covered corpse of the demo-dog.

 

The kids peer over Steve’s shoulder as he removes the blanket entirely before he steps away, not wanting to see that  _ thing  _ again tonight. He watches their faces fall as they stare at it. Then he watches as Billy leans over the trunk slowly, looking cautious. Then his face scrunches in confusion before it turns to a look of pure horror and disgust.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ is that thing?” Billy demands before he whips his head to look at Steve. “What the hell, Steve?!”

 

He almost sounds scared, but Steve quickly corrects himself; he’s probably just mystified and a little grossed out.

 

He returns Billy’s gaze for a minute and then sighs. “Listen, you’re involved now whether you like it or not. You’re in the know. So you have to keep your promise.”

  
  


“Involved?” Billy demands and his attitude in that moment reminds Steve of Max’s. “Can you explain to me exactly  _ what  _ it is I’m involved in?”

 

“It’s a long story, believe me,” Max says, sharing a look with Lucas. “We won’t tell you if you don’t want the responsibility.”

 

“Whoa, hang on a second,” Mike cuts in. “You’re gonna tell him? We haven’t even talked about this, Max! You can’t just make a decision without consulting the Party.”

 

“The  _ Party _ ?” Billy mocks but it’s drowned out by Max saying, “What’s there to talk about? He’s already seen the demo-dog!”

 

Billy’s face twists as he listens to the kids argue.

 

“Telling him the whole story is something else, though,” Lucas surprisingly sides with Mike. “Besides, how can we trust him?”

 

“What do you mean?” Dustin questions, nearly shouting. “He came this far, we’re almost required to tell him now.”

 

“ _ What _ ?!” Mike insists. “We don’t owe him anything! Are you forgetting the time he beat the shit out of Steve?”

 

That stings a little bit, makes Steve squirm uncomfortably. He doesn’t watch Billy to see his reaction, if he even has one.

 

“He did promise,” Eleven points out. “He promised not to tell.” No one has the heart to tell her people often break promises.

 

Will stands there quietly as the rest of the group argues. Steve checks his watch.

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” he says, seeing that it’s now ten o’clock. “Guys,” he interjects, but they’re all shouting at one another and don’t hear him. “Hey, hey,  _ hey _ ! Shitheads!” He booms and they shut up. “We have to get rid of this thing so I can get you guys home, or else your parents will kill me.”

 

“But what about Billy?” Max questions.

 

Billy himself is still standing there, looking lost. Steve looks at him and says, “What about him?”

 

“Are we really just gonna let him go? We can’t trust him.” Lucas says with an air of finality.

 

The kids all stare at Billy and he almost looks uncomfortable under their scrutiny, shifting his weight to his other foot.

 

“Well?” Steve addresses him, brows raised. “Can we trust you or not, Hargrove?”

 

Billy looks at him for a long time, eyes searching his, questioning. Then he shrugs. “Sure, yeah. Who do I have to tell, anyway?”

 

Good enough.

 

“Great,” Steve declares before wrapping the creature up again, holding his breath and careful not to touch its skin in the process. He lifts it with a quiet grunt and carries it to the abandoned bus. Billy follows.

 

Steve ignores his presence as he squats, letting the demo-dog roll from his arms before he shoves it under the bus. Once it’s sufficiently hidden, he stands and runs a hand through his wild hair.

 

“What exactly are you trusting me with?” Billy questions in a low voice, looking unusually compliant.

 

Steve thinks for a minute and doesn’t focus on how close Billy is. “We trust you’re not gonna tell.”

 

“Yeah, I got that part. I mean-” he glances at where the monster is hidden under the bus, almost looks unnerved. “I mean, what the hell is that thing and who’s interested in it, anyway?”

 

Steve sighs and looks over Billy’s shoulder to where the kids are. They seem to have already forgotten the whole ordeal, laughing as they joke around with each other. Oh, how Steve envies them.

 

“Look, I don’t have time to tell you the whole story right now, and it’s not my business to tell, really. So just...forget it, for now. Alright?” Steve hears the pleading in his voice but doesn’t care. This is important.

 

Billy opens his mouth and Steve knows he’s going to argue with him, so he cuts him off. “Don’t you kind of owe me? Consider keeping your mouth shut an apology.”

 

Billy’s mouth hangs open for a second longer before he snaps it closed, eyes widening slightly. If he’s not mistaken, Steve sees Billy’s face flush. For a reason unbeknownst to him, Steve almost feels proud for causing that reaction.

 

Billy jerks his head in a nod.

 

Despite the night’s events, Steve grins at him. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

 

Billy opens his mouth and nearly responds, but he ends up grimacing, looking past Steve. Steve wants to reach out and pat him on the shoulder as a joke, but he’s afraid Billy might actually punch him in the face and awkwardly shoves his hand in his pocket instead. He moves by him and jogs to his car.

 

“Get in, weirdos. Come on!” He claps his hands together and watches the kids scramble into his car, all except for Max, who watches her friends and laughs. Lucas starts whining in the backseat about being squished between Dustin and Mike, and Eleven starts complaining because she called shotgun yet Will is sitting up front. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose; he feels a headache coming on.

 

“I can take Lucas,” Billy calls over to him as he opens the door to his Camaro, cutting through the sound of the kids bickering. “If you want,” he adds.

 

Steve’s gratitude is immeasurable. “Could you?” He tilts his head.

 

Billy nods.

 

“Jesus, thank you,” Steve breathes, a smile cracking his face. He turns sharply to the kids, smile disappearing. “Hey! Lucas, you’re with Billy. Let him out, Mike! Will! El called shotgun, get in the back.” Steve is very aware that he sounds like a frazzled mother, and he’s also very aware that Billy is watching him intently. He can feel his eyes on him, but he ignores it.

 

Luckily the kids hear the authority in his voice and rearrange themselves fairly quickly (even though Lucas is clearly wary of riding with Billy) and Steve is able to get all the kids home before their curfew.

 

When he’s walking El to the door of the cabin, she addresses him. “Steve?”

 

“Yes?”

 

She hesitates, thinking. Then, “Is Billy going to be inducted into the Party?”

 

Steve laughs, but then he sees how serious Eleven is. He clears his throat and shrugs, looking away from her intense gaze. “That’s not for me to decide. But I doubt he wants to be in the Party, El.”

 

“Why not?” She questions, stepping onto the porch of the cabin. Steve looks up as the overhead light flickers on. “He likes you.”

 

And that kind of throws Steve for a loop. Again, he shrugs and feels dumb for doing so. “I-I, well, I don’t...know. Geez. Do you want him to be in the Party?” Then, softer, “Are you okay with him knowing?”

 

Eleven smiles and nods, which surprises Steve. “Yes. He is nice.”

 

Steve’s heart melts even though he knows Eleven’s way off in her judgment of him. He smiles a little. “Yeah. He’s alright.”

 

The front door flies open to reveal the Chief, looking tired. He looks from Steve to Eleven and his expression rapidly changes from worried to relieved. “Oh, there you are.” He tips his head at him, “Steve. Thanks.”

 

“No problem. Night, El.” Steve departs as Eleven hugs Hopper before following him inside.

 

On the way back to his car, Steve finds himself nearly sprinting through the woods, eyes searching all around. He jumps at every sound, paranoid. But he reaches his car without incident and quickly climbs inside.

 

He’s afraid for a moment, thinking he’s about to lose control again and hyperventilate. He doesn’t, thankfully, just takes a few uneasy breaths before he feels mostly calm again. He starts the car and cranks the radio, pulling away and heading home.

 

Eventually, his thoughts drift to what El said.  _ He is nice _ .

 

Oddly enough, he finds himself wanting to believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I have not seen The Stuff, but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be very scary?  
> also, bit of a warning, this chapter contains the use of homophobic slurs.

Billy likes how it sounds.  _ The summer of 1985 _ . Finally free.

 

Except he’s not, not yet. He’s still in Hawkins and he’s still looking after Max all the time, but things are better than they had been just months, weeks ago.

 

Billy’s worst nightmare transpired in the real world at the end of April into early May and just thinking about it made him feel sick. Tommy found out about him. Apparently Billy had underestimated that freckle-faced fucker because he picked up on it from something as discreet as a glance. Perhaps it was more than a glance; ogling some guy on their school’s baseball team is certainly considered more than a mere glance. But his point stands.

 

When Tommy called him out on it, he was so caught off guard that he couldn’t even deny it, couldn’t even ask Tommy what the fuck was wrong with him. So Tommy took it upon himself to tell all of Hawkins High what he had witnessed and what it meant, and then the gates of Hell opened before him. Snickering and staring turned to blatant aggression and alienation. People spread rumors about him, gossiped even when they knew he could hear them. The guys on his basketball team toyed with the idea of electing a new captain (his coach eventually shut the idea down), people who wouldn’t dare to challenge him before began to antagonize him, both verbally and physically. He’d step into the locker room after gym and it’d get all quiet and tense until some douche would make a comment he believed to be witty and then the whole room would erupt with laughter.

 

When people got violent, he fought back. Occasionally, his classmates would grow bored of calling him “faggot” and “fairy” because he gave little to no response, never let them think it bothered him, and they would seek out violent reactions from him instead. He remembers a rainy day when Tommy appeared in front of him and blocked his way to his locker, a gaggle of sniggering teenage boys surrounding him. He watched with an unimpressed expression as Tommy displayed himself over the locker, throwing his arms above himself, sticking his ass out toward him. “Admit it, Hargrove. You can’t resist me,” he had exclaimed, making his friends howl. And because Tommy had caught him on a particularly foul day, Billy reacted.

 

Billy grabbed Tommy’s throat, making his hands fly up to catch him before he could cause any damage. Billy was pleased at how afraid and helpless he looked, gasping slightly as he squeezed, just a little. Enough to get his point across. “I can’t resist crushing your fucking throat,” Billy snarled, blinded by rage. He barely felt it when someone tugged him off of Tommy, didn’t even hear the principal scream in his face, asking what the hell had happened. He watched, ears ringing, as Tommy and his half witted friends took off before the principal could question them.

 

Yeah, that was a spectacularly bad day. He’s just lucky that the school didn’t call his father; he didn’t even want to imagine what Neil would do if he found out why Billy was being harrassed in the first place.

 

But Billy typically didn’t fight back for two reasons, one being that it was too risky. Neil would eventually demand to know why he was getting into so much trouble, and Billy wasn’t so sure he’d be able to lie. But more importantly, Billy didn’t give in to them because giving in, to him, meant admitting shame. Billy is not ashamed and he refused to let any of those shiteaters believe they’d gotten under his skin.

 

Most of their hassling just rolled off his back anyway, but it did get annoying. He showed up to school less and less towards the end of the year, only really going in for tests and finals. He even planned on skipping graduation, but Susan had pouted so of course Neil forced him to attend. He didn’t throw his cap.

 

He had plans to pack his things and blow out of Hawkins the day after graduation, but those plans were promptly squashed the next morning when Neil announced that he and Susan were going on a trip. Alone. All summer. And he had to stay to watch Max.

 

The news of course enraged Billy; he remembers standing in the kitchen afterward, trembling in vexation and squeezing his coffee cup so hard it cracked near the handle.

 

In a way, their trip was a good thing, considering Billy hadn’t really thought his whole escape from Indiana through, and he didn’t have any money to get wherever he was going, anyway. Besides, any time away from Neil Hargrove was time well spent.

 

It only took a few days into summer vacation for Billy to realize that being Max’s caretaker was his only purpose. He doesn’t go to parties anymore — he doesn’t get  _ invited _ to them anymore. The very few people in Hawkins he had associated with had turned their backs on him, unwilling to be friends with the local queer. That was fine by him. They were all hicks to begin with.

 

The evil idea of simply swiping the money Neil left for them and booking it did cross his mind, once. But despite his and Max’s differences, he couldn’t do that to her. No matter how annoying her and her weird little hick friends are.

 

Because being Max’s chauffeur means he has to see those nerds more often than he’d like to, which is just about every damn day. They’re always yapping about some board game or Star Wars, shit like that, and Billy feels so out of place around them it’s ridiculous. And that girl with the curly hair, she has to be the weirdest out of all of them.

 

Billy’s sitting in the parking lot of the mall, seat reclined while he waits for Max. The previous night’s events kind of feel like a weird dream, like they didn’t actually happen. But he knows what he saw and he’s not only hoping for, but expecting an explanation. Soon. He tries not to dwell too much on whatever weird shit happened to him last night, between the little girl’s oddly-timed bloody nose and that dead  _ thing _ Harrington had in his trunk.

 

_ Harrington. _

 

He’s essentially the mother of the group of weirdos, always fussing over them.

 

He’s so pretentious and fake and annoying and so  _ goddamn  _ handsome.

 

With his stupid hair and dumb brown eyes and fucking smile. And the way he runs his hand through his hair when he’s nervous which is always, and how, in English, he’d struggle to focus  _ every single day  _ and just stare out the window until Billy kicked the back of his seat, how he fell asleep in bio because he hated it and he was sleepy at the end of the day, his dumb vests and that little hat he wore at his new job. The fact that Billy would become unnecessarily enraged whenever Tommy would jokingly tell Steve that he was an idiot, and even when that Wheeler girl would say it. And how he got so upset that day when Steve looked so good in his yellow shirt with the collar half popped, which made him look crazy, so Billy threw chocolate milk at him in retaliation because how dare he?

 

Yeah, he knows how he feels, but he also knows Steve is straight, and having feelings for a straight guy is a waste of time. And apparently dangerous, in this town. So it’s best to tease him and take the reactions and interactions he can get and be satisfied with only that.

 

The backdoor to the mall swings open suddenly, revealing the kids from Billy’s nightmares and he groans internally at the sight of them. They sprint across the parking lot, laughing as they chase each other. He sees Max smile as she watches them, rounding the car before sliding into the front seat.

 

They don’t greet each other at first, but then Max says, softly, “This is for you.”

 

Billy looks at her outstretched hands, in them a container of chocolate ice cream. “What?” He’s puzzled.

 

She rolls her eyes but then she grins at him. “Steve said it’s a thank you for bringing Lucas home. And for, um…” She trails off, looking away. “And for not telling anyone about what you saw.”

 

“This seems more like bribery than gratefulness,” he voices, skeptical despite not being able to stop his brain from thinking about how Steve just had the urge to thank him for something so mundane.

 

“ _ Billy _ ,” Max warns him. “Steve’s just nice. Take it.”

 

“I was kidding, geez,” he complains as he takes the container from her. “Yeah. Real nice.”

 

The worst part is that Billy knows she’s right. Steve  _ is  _ nice, almost too nice. Billy is not ignorant of the fact that Steve is one of the only people who never gave him shit after the whole Tommy mess. Even though it would be so easy to, it would be so easy for Steve to finally have the upper hand and ruin him.

 

He shoves all thoughts concerning that gangly doofus from his brain and drives.

 

-

 

The next morning, he has to go to Melvald’s to replace the light bulbs in the bathroom. He had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips when Max went running through the hall, shouting over her shoulder that she was going to Dustin’s. Shortly after she shut the door behind her, the lights above him flickered and died.

 

So now he was being cashed out by a small, kind-looking woman. The tag on her uniform says her name is  _ Joyce _ .

 

Just as he’s ready to open the door to leave, those fucking kids come scurrying in like rats, and he has to quickly move out of their way unless he wants to be knocked over. Why are they  _ everywhere _ he goes?

 

“What are you doing here?” Max questions with her skateboard tucked under her arm, breathless from running.

 

“I could ask you the same damn question,” Billy replies, a bit heated at how she and all her friends came rushing in like they owned the place. He’s about to chew her out when Harrington comes scrambling in after them, hair all out of sorts.

 

Steve casts a quick glance at him, eyes going a little wide before he looks at the kids. He puts his hands on his hips. “I specifically said not to run, you guys. God, you want the whole town thinking I run a circus of wild animals?”

 

The kids mumble an insincere apology and Billy wonders what the hell is going on in this hellscape of a town. Hawkins is really something else.

 

Steve shakes his head and mutters something about manners before he takes the small one by the shoulders and steers him to the cashier. Billy’s pretty sure that one is Will, if his memory is correct. Will Byers. Max has told Susan all about her new friends, and though he pretended to be disinterested, Billy always listened at dinner when she jabbered on and on about the “Party” and all of its members.

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Byers,” Billy hears Steve say to the cashier, to Joyce, and  _ god _ if that’s Mrs. Byers then that means — “I told Will I could pay for him but he insisted on paying for himself.”

 

Joyce laughs and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, Steve,” she says before digging into her pocket and producing a few crumpled bills. She hands them to Byers, who thanks her quietly.

 

No one is aware of Billy’s presence as he stands there, still shocked by the revelation that he shattered that nice woman’s plate on that pretty boy’s head and she has no idea. He has the slight inclination to apologize, but he’s not that keen on the idea of incriminating himself.

 

Max approaches him and steals his attention. “Do you have any cash?” She sticks her hand out expectantly and bats her eyes.

 

Billy just grumbles and reaches into his pocket, takes a few dollars out of his wallet and shoves them at her. “Don’t be a shithead. And don’t embarrass your babysitter, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Max is insisting, “He’s not my —” but the door to Melvald’s shuts behind him before she can finish.

 

He’s about to get in his car when he hears the bell on the store’s entrance ring and Steve walks up to him. His heart rate spikes and he hates it.

 

“Hey,” Steve says carefully over the roof of the Camaro as he slips a pair of sunglasses on, acting all nonchalant yet he’s clearly uncomfortable, and Billy wants to yell at him. “Did Max give it to you?”

 

It takes him a second. “Uh, yeah,” he says slowly then wants to slap himself. “She did. Thanks.”

 

Steve just smiles and nods, and it’s that big beautiful grin he does where his eyebrows are raised and he looks like he’s suppressing an even bigger smile. He wonders why he’s looking at him like that.

 

“Um, me and the kids…” Steve begins and then trails off, looking behind himself at the kids coming out of the store. He turns back and puts his elbows on the roof of the car, leaning forward. “Me and the kids are going to the movies tonight to see  _ The Stuff _ , and, uh, Max said you like scary movies, so. I was wondering if you wanted to come with, basically.”

 

He says it so quickly, nearly muttering, but Billy hears every word and he’s frozen, doesn’t know what the hell to say or do. He can only imagine what his face looks like because at the sight of it, Steve is stumbling over words, “I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, obviously. You, um, probably think it’s lame, which I get, but —”

 

“No, no, it’s not that,” Billy finally is able to respond. “I’m just surprised, ‘s all.” Billy realizes he didn’t answer the question, but he can’t seem to use his voice properly.

 

“Oh,” Steve breathes and the relief in his voice, in his posture, is very endearing and also a bit confusing, because he’s certain Steve hates him. Billy can only guess at how wide his eyes are behind those glasses. “So...is that a yes?”

 

Billy nods slowly and can’t believe what he’s doing, what the fuck is even happening. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. What time?”

 

“The movie’s at eight thirty. Lucas will kill you if you’re late, just so you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Steve pushes off the car, stands upright and makes to rejoin the kids.

 

Billy opens his mouth to respond, to  _ thank  _ him or something but Steve notices Sinclair and Dustin are violently slapping each other, so he rushes over and pulls them apart by their shirts. The sight is truly ridiculous and Billy has to look at his feet to hide a chuckle that escapes him. When he looks back up, Steve is peering over at him, one corner of his mouth quirked in a half grin before Wheeler tugs on his arm and Steve is tripping up a little, then leads the kids down the sidewalk. He holds Billy’s gaze for a while, until he has to look ahead of himself unless he wants to walk backwards. It fills Billy with a strange new form of adrenaline.

 

Vaguely, he wonders just how much weirder his interactions with the people of Hawkins will become. He lights a cigarette.

 

-

 

An entire pack of cigarettes and some hours later, Billy is waiting for Max in the car. He honks the horn for the second time. She finally comes out of the house, clearly exasperated by his impatience. She slips into the car and Billy notices her hair is braided, a few pieces untucked.

 

“That what took you so long?” He asks, pointing at his own head to indicate. He pulls away from the curb.

 

“Oh,” she says, reaching up to touch the braid self-consciously. “Yeah.” After a beat, “Does it look okay? My mom usually does it.”

 

He glances at her and his mouth twitches into an almost-smile. “Yeah, it looks okay. I mean, I think you should stick to skating, but you did a good job.”

 

Max slaps his arm and he cackles. “Billy! This isn’t funny!”

 

He calms down and is quiet for a minute. Then he says to her in the most reassuring voice he can manage, “It looks real pretty, Max.”

 

She hesitates and he worries that his compliment came off as being sarcastic. “Thanks,” she says finally, looking very pleased with herself and he’s kind of relieved.

 

They arrive at the theater and before Billy’s even parked, Max is opening the car door and running to Lucas, who’s waiting for her on the sidewalk. He almost yells at her but then he watches Lucas spot her, immediately lighting up at the sight of her, and then he knows why she almost made them late. It’s almost  _ cute _ . Almost.

 

There’s a decent crowd of people there, but he quickly spots Steve at the ticket booth while the rest of the kids huddle around him like he’s their mother, which, admittedly, he sort of is. Billy watches as he turns from the clerk and the kids all start to grab for their tickets, but he lifts his arms and wards them off, rips each off neatly and hands them to the little shits, scolding them, all while carefully avoiding any collisions with the crowd. But he’s laughing at them, too, and Billy feels himself smiling, too big, so he schools his features before stepping out to join them.

 

And then, while walking up to them, he’s suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety, he feels ridiculous for some reason. God, what the  _ hell _ is he even doing here? This is not his scene at all, it’s not who he is. He bets Steve just pities him, knows he has no one and nothing else. He doesn’t like being pitied. He’s about to turn and leave, skip the embarrassment of being seen with these freaks but then Steve’s looking up at him, he smiles and his big fucking eyes dazzle or some shit and he can’t leave now.

 

“You’re here,” Steve observes because he’s just that brilliant.

 

“Well, I was invited, so,” Billy retorts, but there’s no malice in his tone. Steve bites back a grin but Max elbows him in the ribs.

 

“Play nice, dipshit,” she warns as she leads him to the ticket booth.

 

Billy rolls his eyes. “He knows I was joking.” But then he frowns a little because what if he doesn’t?

 

After paying for his and Max’s tickets, they all head into the lobby and the heavenly scent of buttered popcorn wafts through the air, and Billy likes the glare of the neon lights on the hideous orange tiles even though it’s sort of unappealing. He hasn’t been to the movies in a while, so he had kind of forgotten how much he loves the whole experience. He feels some of the tension ease.

 

“Steve, I swear to God,” that’s Henderson using his best authoritative voice. “We better be getting popcorn.”

 

“Who do you think I am? Of course we’re getting popcorn, hold your goddamn horses, Henderson.” Steve shakes his head and mutters to himself as the kids rejoice upon the prospect of getting food. “Go inside and grab seats,” Steve directs them, pointing vaguely in the direction of the theater  _ The Stuff  _ is being shown in.

 

The kids happily obey, prancing excitedly to the hallway and Billy’s about to follow Max like a loser but Steve grabs his sleeve, stopping him. He looks at him and Steve’s smiling sheepishly.

 

“Sorry. I kinda just spazzed, didn’t I?” He takes his hand back and uses it to rub the back of his neck.

 

“Little bit,” Billy confirms, but it’s too soft to really be his voice, he thinks. “The hell’s the matter, Harrington?”

 

Steve looks uncertain as he joins the line to the concession stand. “I just wanted to thank you for coming, ‘cause,” he pauses, then says in practically one breath, “sometimes I get nervous when I’m watching the kids alone, especially at night, plus I have El, so, yeah. Thanks.” He finishes with his rambling speech and then turns to Billy, gives him a wobbly smile. He turns away again and Billy wishes he wouldn’t do that.

 

Billy looks at him, doesn’t smile or anything, but his chest is filling with some odd feeling, his fingertips buzz pleasantly. He’s not exactly sure how he feels about what Steve’s just said, but his brain draws the conclusion that Steve maybe trusts him, in some small way. Or something close to trust. He probably shouldn’t, though.

 

He realizes he’s been staring at Steve and blinks. “I didn’t sign up to babysit. I better be getting paid for this.” He grins wickedly.

 

Steve laughs, but still won’t look at him for more than a glance. “Do you accept popcorn as payment?”

 

Billy rolls his eyes but he chuckles all the same, because Steve is laughing, too, and it’s a beautiful noise. “Sure, yeah,” he says and then Steve gets two large popcorns for the kids and a small one for them to share, apparently, and Billy’s wondering if this is real life.

 

“But, honestly, I invited you because Max said you like scary movies, and we were planning on coming anyway so, I figured...” he trails off. They’re walking to the theater now, and Billy spots the poster for the film they’re about to see. It’s disturbing, which he likes.

 

Billy just hums in response because he doesn’t know what to say. They find the kids and grab seats behind them. Steve reaches over and hands them their popcorn, his shirt lifts a little and Billy  _ glances _ at the bare skin of his stomach.

 

Steve sits and then leans forward. “Oh, guys, just so you know, if I see a single piece of that popcorn make a detour between the bowl and your mouths, I will drag you all out of this theater without hesitation. Are we clear?” He says it in such a stern voice even Billy is a little worried about dropping some. The kids nod solemnly. “Good.” With that, the kids turn toward the screen.

 

Satisfied, Steve sits back and takes a quick look at Billy, chuckling silently like it’s a secret between the two of them. Billy’s simultaneously impressed, amused, and slightly intimidated.

 

“Remind me why you needed my help with them?” Billy wonders aloud.

 

Steve’s face turns a little serious then, he looks from the rim of the popcorn bowl to the screen. “I can manage disciplining them, but. Like I said, alone at night with them? Just makes me a little worried, ‘s all. Plus, crowds aren’t really my favorite.”

 

Billy wonders why the hell Steve is admitting all this, to  _ him _ of all people. The guy who beat his face in months before. “So I’m here to protect you against the monsters that lurk in the shadows, that it?”

 

Steve shrugs then looks at him for two whole seconds. Something flashes across his face in that time but it’s gone in an instant. “Yeah. Can you manage that, Hargrove?”

 

And that…makes Billy feel a certain way, but he just narrows his eyes and looks at the screen. After a beat, “Sure. I can manage.”

 

Steve apparently dislikes horror movies, because when Charlie’s dying, Billy looks to see him cringing, trying to hide his face behind the popcorn (which Steve has eaten most of). He wants to laugh at him, kind of wants to laugh at the movie itself because he’s not all that scared, but then Charlie fucking explodes and Steve turns sharply into him, tucking his face behind his shoulder and any humor he found in Steve’s discomfort completely disappears. For a second, he just lets Steve stay like that, he can’t breathe so what can he say?

 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters and Billy barely registers it.

 

Billy turns his head to look at him but that’s a mistake because of how much it affects him. He can only see Steve’s brown eyes, peering up at him, crinkled at the corners from smiling sheepishly and it’s the longest he’s held his gaze. Steve starts to turn back to the screen, but before he can, Billy stops thinking and reaches a hand up, tucks his head back into his shoulder and says, “Better not do that, scene isn't over.”

 

He feels Steve chuckle against him and then he mumbles, “Thanks.”

 

He’s slow to lift his head again, even after the scene is over, though Billy could just be imagining things.

 

When the movie’s done and they’re standing around outside and at last the sky is dark, the kids are ranting about it. Like Billy, Max doesn’t seem too impressed, though she is amused. In fact, the only ones that really truly appear to be frightened are Lucas and Will. And, of course, Steve, but Billy doesn’t call him out when he denies having been afraid. He’s still too keyed up from Steve leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he does that all the time.

 

Billy ends up drifting from the group, but not too far that he can’t hear Wheeler give a passionate review of the acting in the movie. He leans up against the building, lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. He gazes up at the glittering lights above the ticket booth and exhales, tastes the cool night air and kind of loves it. He looks back at the group and briefly surveys each of them. He catches Steve looking over at him, and when he meets his eye, Steve looks away, pretending to be invested in what Wheeler’s saying. Billy shifts against the wall and hides his grin behind his cigarette.

 

He sees Steve approach out of his peripheral vision, doesn’t look up when he leans against the wall next to him. He tries to hide a smile behind his hand.

 

“What’s so funny?” Steve questions, pleased. He nudges Billy when he doesn’t immediately respond. “Spill it, Hargrove.”

 

Billy looks up at him and he cannot for the life of him suppress a wild grin, he feels ridiculous and a little bit high and he still thinks this isn’t real life. “Nothin’, just...you were real scared, that’s all.”

 

Billy, honest to fucking God, watches Steve Harrington’s cheeks pinken and he thinks he might pass out at the sight, doesn’t quite know what to do with this information.

 

“I’m easily spooked, what can I say?” Steve shrugs and Billy chuckles.

 

They’re quiet for a minute and Billy offers his cigarette to him. Steve takes it, Billy watches intently as his cheeks hollow and the cherry glows. Steve hands it back and lets the cloud of smoke roll slowly from his mouth, for the second time that night he doesn’t shy away from Billy’s gaze. It’s intense, in a way, but he’s not exactly sure why or how. Just is, and since he’s greedy, he’s already craving that intensity again when the spell is broken by Steve shivering. The night is breezy and Harrington doesn’t have a jacket, because he’s foolish.

 

He wants, for a very brief second, to slip his own jean jacket off and wrap it around Steve. He obviously doesn’t, he catches himself and squashes the idea promptly because it’s a very queer notion, and Steve isn’t.

 

They pass the cigarette back and forth and Steve continues to shiver whenever the wind blows. Billy can see goosebumps on his arms.

 

“You know, you’re pretty good at taking care of them,” Billy nods toward the kids, “but you’re not very good at taking care of yourself.”

 

A smile slowly blooms across Steve’s face as he lets the cigarette dangle from his fingers, inches from his mouth. He shrugs one shoulder and then Byers is wandering over, stops right in front of Steve and drops his head against his chest. Steve ruffles his hair and says something to him, so quiet Billy can’t hear him, and Byers nods in response. Steve’s mouth quirks into a frown and he looks at Billy, eyes apologetic.

 

He turns to the kids, “Will’s sleepy, you know what time it is.” Dustin and Max start to whine but Steve waves his hand, shuts them down. “C’mon, guys.”

 

Billy watches with a lazy smile as Steve rounds them up, his arm around Will’s shoulders. The kid’s glued to his hip, his eyes are slipping shut he’s so tired. Billy finds the whole situation very precious and knows he shouldn’t because feeling all this only leads to the sudden absence of that same feeling when he leaves, or when Steve leaves, or when whatever happens happens. He feels a sort of chill rush through him at the unpleasant thought, then throws all those thoughts away entirely.

 

Steve turns to him, and now El is leaning against him, too. “Thanks again,” he says, and it’s so warm and sweet that Billy forgets to not feel the way he does. “I’ll, uh, see you around. Right?”

 

Billy thinks he’s imagining the hopeful tone of his voice and the open look on Steve’s face, but it’s really there and he’s just nodding, like a moron. But Steve is satisfied with his response because that beautiful smile spreads across his face again and he’s walking away, children in tow. El throws a wave his way and smiles, but she’s basically asleep against Steve’s side so he doesn’t say bye. Plus, she kind of freaks him out.

 

Sinclair is hanging back, standing incredibly close to Max and Billy catches her kissing his cheek, stealthily. He smiles at her and finally runs to catch up to Steve, quite obviously creating a large radius between himself and Billy when he passes by. Billy just shakes his head and laughs.

 

When he and Max are stepping through their door, Max asks, “How’d you like the movie?”

 

“Lame,” he says and he’s being honest. He makes a beeline for the kitchen.

 

Max follows. “Yeah,” she agrees. “But it was still fun, wasn’t it?”

 

Billy’s scouring the drawer for a spoon. “You and Sinclair had a lot of fun, I’m sure.”

 

“So did you and Steve.”

 

He turns and glares at her. She’s got a smug grin painted on. “I think it’s past your bedtime, loser.”

  
But he actually doesn’t make her go to bed, and since he’s a cool step-brother, he lets her watch a  _ real  _ horror movie with him while he eats his ice cream which he hasn’t had the stomach for, until tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my mind, billy finds the word "queer" empowering so when he uses it in reference to himself, it's NOT an indicator of internalized homophobia, though it's likely I'll dip into that later on.  
> also, yes, eye contact is too overwhelming for Steve lol  
> thank you for reading and all your sweet messages so far! I really appreciate you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be aware that this chapter is sort of violent/gory, but not terribly so

He has all the windows open, letting the late morning breeze waft lazily into the kitchen where he’s drinking his second cup of coffee even though he knows it’s only going to make him more anxious than he normally is. In his defense, he didn’t sleep very well the night before. He had felt happy and warm when he went to bed and was able to get at least an hour of sleep, but then he had jolted awake for no apparent reason, panting and sweating. He was unable to fall asleep again and instead stared at the blackness of his darkened room.

 

So now he’s overtired which really means he’s wide awake with his thoughts moving faster than he can comprehend, the coffee’s only making him feel worse but he doesn’t want to waste it, and he keeps playing the previous day’s events over and over again in his muddled mind.

 

Between the ice cream and the movie invite, he’s been awfully nice to the dick that bashed his face in just months ago, yet has no understanding of  _ why _ . It still bothers him, when Billy looks straight at him all serious and way too intense and then Steve looks away because if he doesn’t he’ll get lost forever, he thinks. He keeps welcoming Billy’s presence while also shying away from him, he sees him and first feels like he’s been shocked, then that quickly dissipates and he feels weirdly giddy, then he feels frozen and possessed as words pour out of him without his consent. Like when he asked him to come to the movies. And he felt like an absolute idiot, until, shockingly, Billy said he’d join and then he felt unnecessarily elated, like he’d fucking  _ won  _ something.

 

He’s often told that he’s too nice, or that some people don’t deserve his kindness, but what they don’t understand is that he can’t always help it. He especially can’t help it when dealing with Billy which is totally confusing because he knows he should hate him, and he did, for a while.

 

Steve sips his coffee.

 

He hated Billy until Max vaguely mentioned how he’d once asked her what “Zoomer” meant and why her friends called her that. Steve remembers how she laughed because Billy originally thought it was an insult and was prepared to take care of business, but she explained to him that it wasn’t a dig.

 

And for whatever reason, that anecdote made Steve realize how tired he was with harboring such distaste for Billy, so he stopped and was relieved. He ceased to feel anything toward him (aside from slightly irritated, occasionally) and everything was fine because Billy left the kids alone. He was even kind of tolerable, according to Max. And then, out of nowhere, Tommy started to spread rumors about how Billy Hargrove was a “fag” and the entire school’s attitude shifted. He and Jonathan and Nancy seemed to be the only ones that didn’t give Billy hell for it. Despite everything, Steve felt terrible about the whole ordeal. He kind of tried to be invisible to Billy after that, figuring seeing his face would only piss him off more, since it had before.

 

Besides, Steve didn’t believe it. It doesn’t matter to him, of course, but he never bought it to begin with.

 

Billy stopped being a problem for everyone, so Steve can’t figure out why keeps, like,  _ begging  _ to be reminded of his existence, to be around him. It all makes his head throb, so he stops thinking about it altogether.

 

He doesn’t have to work until four, so he sighs before downing the rest of his coffee, which is now ice cold. He figures he’ll see if the kids are done at the arcade and want a ride somewhere, or maybe he’ll see if they want to have lunch at the diner.  _ Jesus _ , he needs friends his own age.

 

He brushes his teeth and sprays his hair a bit, just trying to tame the strands that are sticking out every which way, then he throws on a pair of denim shorts and a faded yellow tee. He laces up a pair of ratty white Chuck Taylors and leaves, speed walks until he’s safe in his car because every time he looks into the woods behind his house he loses it.

 

When he starts his car, Man On The Prowl begins to play and he breathes, then pulls away.

 

He enjoys the ride, his windows rolled down as Queen plays, and he knows his hair is going to be a mess but he tries not to care because this is nice, the warm air and the people of Hawkins milling about town.

 

He parks at the arcade and moves to get out, but he notices something is off: the kids’ bikes aren’t there. He had given Will and El a ride and the rest of the kids were supposed to bike (and skate) there. He slips his sunglasses down his nose and surveys the area again, but he’s not blind, the bikes aren’t there.

 

“Calm down, Steve,” he tells himself quietly. “Just calm the hell down.”

 

He gets out now and enters the arcade. It’s pretty much empty in there, the Party being the only kids with any interest in playing arcade games on a hot summer day. But they’re not here, so Steve gets back in his car and drives away.

 

He turns the music down so he can focus. They probably just got bored and decided to head to the pool, so Steve, being a totally calm and rational guy, heads there  _ slowly _ .

 

When he’s at the pool, he shoves his sunglasses up into his hair, hands on his hips as he scans with narrowed eyes for the kids. For a hopeful second, he thinks he sees Max’s red hair waiting in line at the snack bar, but the girl turns and it’s not her. He stays a few more minutes looking in the water, carefully avoiding the edge, searching the lounge chairs. After concluding that they’re definitely not there, either, he feels himself grow worried.

 

In his car again, he steps on the gas and flies through the streets, to the Wheelers’ house. He slams the door shut and tugs nervously at his shirt as he walks to the front door. He knocks, perhaps too aggressively, and Mrs. Wheeler answers.

 

She smiles brightly, “Oh, Steve. What a surprise!”

 

He forces himself to smile back. “Hello, Mrs. Wheeler. How are you?” He hates this small talk, he just wants to know where the hell her son and his friends are.

 

“I’m great, thanks,” she replies and Steve hopes she’s sick of this, too, to get it over with. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I was just wondering where Mike is?” He hopes the worry in his voice goes unnoticed.

 

Mrs. Wheeler looks confused. “He said he was going to the arcade with his friends. Is he not there?”

 

Steve feels his eyes go wide but quickly corrects his expression with a grin. “Oh,  _ duh _ !” He shakes his head, playing dumb. “I didn’t even think of that. Of course. Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler.”

 

She smiles and nods, looking a little skeptical but she closes the door anyway.

 

So Steve checks the Byers’s, but the kids aren’t there, either. So he goes to the Sinclairs’ and then to the Hendersons’, with no sign of the kids at any of their houses. He even checks Hopper’s cabin, goes through with the whole secret knock  _ three times _ and there’s no answer, just complete silence. In a sort of panic, he checks the arcade again to be sure, then the junkyard, then drives around Hawkins like a madman.

 

A cold pit opens in his stomach because now he’s worried sick, and he knows they’re old enough to take care of themselves, but where the  _ fuck _ are they? Hopper and Mrs. Wheeler and Dustin’s mom and Lucas’ parents and Mrs. Byers  _ and  _ Jonathan are all going to kill him, and then he’s going to want to die. He doesn’t know much about Max’s mom, but she’ll probably kill him, too.

 

And then the realization dawns on him; there’s just one place he didn’t check where they’ve been caught before. And, Jesus save them, if they’re where he thinks they are, there’s going to be hell to pay.

 

He takes a breath he hopes will steady him (it doesn’t) and decides to check one more place before he assumes the worst.

 

Max lives in a quaint house on Cherry, so he heads there. Billy’s car is parked out front and Steve walks on shaky legs up the cement steps to ring the doorbell. He hears music blaring inside, so he bangs on the door, worry and anger overriding any fear he has of pissing Billy off.

 

The door whips open, the sound of heavy metal booming louder now, yet Steve is overwhelmed for another reason.

 

Billy’s standing there, his face twisted in obvious perplexity, and he’s sweaty and he’s got a deep cut black muscle tee on and tiny black shorts.

 

At the realization that he just eyed Billy up and down like he plans on eating him for lunch, Steve’s face gets real hot and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Hi,” he greets him lamely.

 

Billy’s still looking at him with that face, like he’s suspicious and a little disgusted at Steve’s presence, but his expression softens a little and he’s turning around, walking over to his stereo and lowering the volume. Steve feels his eyes pull his gaze down Billy’s back, but he quickly stops that from happening because what the  _ hell _ is wrong with him. Instead, he notices a mole on Billy’s left shoulder and focuses on that, maybe too intently, but it’s better than staring at his backside.

 

Billy returns to the opened door looking unenthused. “There a reason you interrupted me, Harrington?”

 

Steve looks away from his face and downward, where Billy’s hand rests at his side. The veins in it are protruding, and it holds his attention. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know where the kids are.”

 

“Lost your ducklings, huh?” Billy’s grinning, he knows that because he’s looking at him again, and then the bastard’s tongue pokes out for a second before he says, “Well, they ain’t here, pretty boy.”

 

Steve looks at his feet and shifts, runs a hand anxiously through his hair. “Right,” he says but his voice is stretched thin with anger and fear. “They’re not here, they’re not at the arcade or the pool  _ or  _ the Byers’s, so that really only leaves one fucking place they could be,  _ shit _ ,” Steve mutters it all to himself, forgetting that Billy’s listening. Probably judging him.

 

“The hell are you on about?” Billy questions, leaning against the doorway all nonchalant. He shrugs, “They’re a bunch of nerdy kids, Steve, they’re probably, I don’t fucking know, exploring the woods or some shit.”

 

And he’s not sure why he says it, but he says, “Remember that thing I had in my trunk, the thing I made you swear not to tell anyone about?”

 

He watches one of Billy’s fingers twitch at his side, and then he looks up to see his amused smirk slowly fading like he knows what Steve’s getting at. “What about it?”

 

But Steve can’t respond because he’s shaking, his head’s filling up with images of those fucking monsters, their faces opening, filled with blood and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s afraid he’s hyperventilating and embarrassing himself in front of Billy.

 

Then a strong hand is gripping his shoulder and he’s pulled from his terrifying thoughts. He jerks his head to look at Billy, who’s got a worried line between his brows.

 

“You’re shaking,” is all Billy says.

 

“And you’re brilliant,” Steve shoots but doesn’t look away or brush his hand off of his shoulder. “I have to go.”

 

But Billy doesn’t let him go. He grips him tighter. “I’m coming.”

 

Steve gives him a look, and he’s aware it’s almost the exact same look he gives the kids when they do something he warned them not to. “Yeah, right. You can’t come.”

 

“Why not?” Billy challenges. “My sister is missing, I’d like to know where the hell she is. Besides,” Billy motions toward him, “you’re spazzing too much, you can’t drive anywhere like that.”

 

Steve knows he’s right because he can feel the fear and anxiety threatening to spill out of him. But he also knows how dangerous it is, and if Billy comes, then he’d be getting involved in shit he has no way out of.

 

“If you’re gonna be so annoying about it, I guess I have to drag you along.” Billy rolls his eyes at that and drops his hand. “But if you come,” Steve moves closer to Billy, lowers his voice, “you’re officially involved.”

 

Billy stares back at him and says, “I have no problem with that, Harrington.”

 

Steve blinks and is suddenly aware of Billy’s blue eyes staring right into his own, so he looks sharply away and clears his throat. “Great. Great, I, uh, have to… grab something.”

 

He rushes to his car and hears Billy’s front door close behind him, the sound of his footsteps following him.

 

When Steve pulls the bat out of his trunk, Billy says, “Should I even fucking ask?”

 

“No,” Steve is quick to reply, letting himself into the passenger seat of Billy’s Camaro. “Just drive.”

 

-

 

Steve sees Billy’s eyes slide over to the weapon every time he gives him directions, but he’s mostly ignoring that as he tries to hype himself up for whatever he might run into.

 

The fifth time Billy eyes it, Steve sighs, “It’s a bat with nails in it.”

 

“Yeah, I see that, shithead,” Billy snaps back. “Why the fuck do you  _ have  _ it and why the fuck are you bringing it?”

 

“I told you already!” Steve almost shouts, frustrated even more now. “Fucking demo-dogs!”

 

“Demo-dogs, right,” Billy nods, eyes wide with mirth. “We gonna run into the bogeyman, too?”

 

“Oh, you’re so funny,” Steve rolls his eyes. “You can admit you’re scared, you know.”

 

“I’m not scared,” Billy insists. “I just don’t understand what the hell is going on because you’ve neglected to tell me anything about your weird little cult. I mean, I’m  _ involved _ , aren’t I?”

 

“Yeah, well,” Steve mumbles, looking out the window. “If we make it out alive I’ll tell you all about it.”

 

Billy’s silent after that, maybe because he actually realizes the gravity of the situation, but more likely because they’re at the lab, rolling up to the broken gate.

 

“Department of Energy, huh?” Billy reads, then turns to look at Steve. “What is this place, anyway?”

 

Steve is frozen for a moment.

 

“Steve?” Billy asks, concern edging his voice. He waves a hand in front of his face, which Steve slaps away.

 

“C’mon,” Steve says before taking his bat and getting out. He walks through the open gate, assuming Billy will follow. In that moment, he’s more pissed than afraid.

 

He stops abruptly in front of the shattered door and Billy bumps into him.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Billy demands, but Steve shushes him then raises the bat cautiously, listening. It’s silent, so he steps through the smashed door with Billy on his heels.

 

The place is humid and littered with rotting demo-dog corpses and it  _ reeks _ , so much so that Steve shoves the collar of his shirt to his face, trying not to breathe the scent in. He hears Billy gag and turns to find him grimacing. He takes him by the arm and tugs him along, “I know. But we have to go.”

 

They venture deeper into the lab. Billy is finally taking the whole thing seriously now, as he’s following Steve’s every move, uttering not a word. Their footsteps echo throughout the seemingly vacant building as they wind through hallways, searching; for the kids, for monsters, for anything they might happen upon. With Steve in front, they edge up to a corner and he stops Billy with a firm press to his chest. He can see out of his peripheral that Billy’s watching him intensely, a question on his face that he’s probably too scared to ask. Steve waits and waits until he hears it: that unmistakable purr, almost like laughter. He turns quickly to Billy, eyes wide and he’s met by even wider blue eyes. He takes a deep breath and peeks around the corner.

 

At the other end of the hallway is a demo-dog, the biggest one Steve’s ever seen. It’s standing on its hind legs, presumably sniffing them out. He holds his breath as it stands on all fours, crawling slowly in their direction. He presses himself flat against the wall, trying to remain calm.

 

“Is it…” Billy whispers, too breathless to finish his question, already knowing the answer.

 

Steve nods jerkily. He peers around the corner again and sees that it’s still heading toward them. He considers their options quickly, trying his best not to panic. He looks around and he spots a door behind Billy, likely leading to a storage closet, so he shoves him toward it, pointing. Billy looks and understands, slowly opening the door. Steve has his back to Billy, bat raised as he backpedals. He sees the monster’s face appear around the corner, and for a moment he’s preparing to rush toward it, but he’s being pulled into the closet by his shirt. He almost trips and falls, but Billy catches him and shuts the door, astoundingly silent as he does so. He’s chest to chest with Billy, who has his back to the door, but that doesn’t matter much because they’re trying to be quiet as they pant, both of them covered in sweat while they listen to the demo-dog purr outside.

 

Steve looks over Billy’s shoulder through the window, and although it’s foggy, he can see the distorted dark blur as it creeps by, slower than ever. He holds his breath when the creature nears the door, sniffing. Billy’s got his shirt bunched in his fist in the inches between them, and Steve feels his grip tighten, pulling the material taut over his back. Miraculously, the demo-dog continues on its way, but they remain frozen for another few minutes, just to be safe. Billy releases Steve as he reaches behind him, opens the door a crack and peers out into the hall. It’s currently empty and soundless, so he steps out with his bat pointed in front of him.

 

“I wanna get the hell out of this place, so let’s move,” Steve whispers and Billy nods, a determined look set in his features. For the briefest second, Steve’s brain supplies the thought that Billy looks way too attractive like this, all sweaty with the veins in his arms and hands still sticking out. He thinks about the wrinkled material of his shirt for some reason. He blinks and refocuses.  _ What the hell? _

 

They round corners quickly now, eager to get the hell out. It’s staggeringly dark in the lab, with rot and decay infecting every inch they cover. It feels like the whole place is breathing, pulsing like a beating heart despite being the picture of death.

 

“You sure the dipshits are here?” Billy asks him as they’re waiting to continue, listening for any lurking monsters.

 

“Well,” Steve tilts his head, feeling steady for a brief moment. “Even if they’re not, it’ll make for a really great story, right?” He tries to smile, but nothing about the situation warrants it, so he just looks more scared.

 

Billy scowls at him. “You’re insane.”

 

“Takes one to know one, Hargrove,” he says and, unless he’s seeing things, Billy’s lip twitches into a sort of disturbed grin.

 

Steve’s not looking when he shoots around a corner, and his foot lands on something that rolls underneath him. He’s sent flying backward as the thing under his foot hurtles forward and his heart stops, he’s sure he’s about to be knocked out against the cold ground and Billy will have to drag his limp body out of the lab. But, somehow, Billy is behind him in time to catch him under the armpits with a grunt, and he’s both shocked by and thankful for Billy’s strength for the second time. He feels blood rush to his feet, relief flooding his senses. He looks ahead of himself to find the thing he’d stepped on was in fact Max’s skateboard, and it crashes against a heavy door at the end of the hall. Billy’s still holding him.

 

“Pretty certain they’re here,” Steve mutters, and his anger from earlier comes rushing back to him.

 

Billy steadies him on his feet and is about to say something when they hear it: a growl, coming from behind them.

 

Steve whips around with his bat at the ready, one arm ushering Billy behind him. Like the one they saw before, this demo-dog is big as it stands on its hind legs, inspecting them. Steve snarls and prepares to crush the bastard, but then he hears  _ another  _ growl coming from the door where the skateboard is and his blood chills. He throws a glance over his and Billy’s shoulders and sees that it’s closer than the one in front of them, and it seems much angrier.

 

Steve feels his heart race as the one behind them moves closer, crawling quickly toward them. The one in front of them is stalking slowly, so Steve crouches and swings the bat out in front of him, taunting it. It stops moving for a second, watching him. He feels his mouth curl into a sadistic smile.

 

He turns to look at the other one and sees that it’s just a few feet away from them. Billy’s watching, too, but he shows no signs of being afraid, he doesn’t tremble or gasp in fear. If Steve wasn’t so hyped up on adrenaline, trepidation, and rage, he’d take a second to be impressed.

 

He feels his feet bouncing underneath him. Billy grabs his shoulder and hisses into his ear, “Plant your feet.”

 

“Very funny.”

 

“I’m serious. I have a plan.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He hears a smooth  _ click _ sound and Billy reaches in front of him with a rather sharp pocket knife in his hand. Steve’s eyes widen. “Where the hell’d you get that?!”

 

“It was in my sock,” he says like it’s the most normal thing for a person to do, to keep a fucking knife in their sock. “Now listen to me. That thing behind me is gonna try to jump on me and eat my brains or some shit.” Steve glances back and sees the creature sticking its legs out, preparing to jump just like Billy said. “And that one in front of you is gonna kill you the minute you turn around.”

 

“Great,” Steve gulps because he knows he’s right, as he was planning to turn his back on that one.

 

“So when the one behind me jumps, I’m gonna duck and you’re gonna turn and knock its fucking lights out.”

 

“Then?” Steve breathes, allowing himself to feel hopeful.

 

“Then I’m gonna kill that one,” he jerks his chin to the demo-dog in front of Steve.

 

“How?”

 

“Dunno,” he says as he clasps the knife with both hands, knuckles grazing Steve’s back. “But I will. Ready?”

 

Steve takes a deep breath and nods. He turns his head so he can see out of his peripheral vision when the monster jumps at Billy.

 

It’s creeping closer still, growling as its body tenses. Its face opens up and it launches itself at Billy’s back. “Duck!” He yells and Billy does, Steve winds up and turns.

 

The bat connects with the bastard’s face with a squelching sound as Billy is bringing the knife down on the other bastard’s skull. Steve feels the blow ripple through his arms and watches the demo-dog fly back down the hallway, landing in a heap, whimpering. He turns sharply to help Billy, but he sees that his assistance isn’t needed.

 

Billy is twisting the knife into the creature’s neck as it cries out, grimacing as he kills it. Satisfied with his work, he stands, panting, and then looks at Steve. He has the balls to fucking wink at Steve.

 

Steve is too shocked and thrilled to say anything. His eyes are wide before he turns and walks over to the demo-dog he injured. Standing over it, he feels hatred fill his veins as he raises the bat over his head and brings it down, hard, on the twitching body. The heavy metal door opens at the same time to reveal the terrified kids, and blood goes splattering across their faces.

 

Steve looks at them with narrow eyes as he lifts the bat with the monster still stuck to it, nails plunged deep inside of its now limp and bloodied body. He shakes it until the body gives, falling to the ground with a  _ splat _ , its guts littering the floor in dark smears.

 

Steve doesn’t have to say a single word; he fixes them with  _ that look _ and they’re all scrambling to stand, their eyes downturned. Max stealthily snatches her board up and none of them look at Steve, or even Billy, as they follow the teenagers out of the lab. Luckily, they don’t run into any more demo-dogs.

 

Steve struts, absolutely fuming, through the shattered door and across the parking lot. His bat drips blood on the concrete as he carries it next to himself. He doesn’t say a single word as he approaches Billy’s car, but he can hear the kids mumbling to each other.

 

He stops where he is and thinks, for a while. Eventually, Lucas breaks the silence. “We just wanted to check, to make sure it didn’t get worse.”

 

His eyes slide to where Lucas is standing and he watches him deflate. They’re all lined up in front of the car as if preparing to be scolded. Billy’s watching from the fence, idly cleaning his knife with his shirt.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve finally shouts and lets the bat clatter to the ground. He puts his hands on his hips, anger and frustration threatening to boil over. “And what do you think, you think it’s worse?”

 

None of the kids answer him. Max and El are the only ones brave enough to meet his ferocious gaze. El has dried blood under her nose.

 

The anger inside of him feels alive, and he can’t control his volume when he yells, “I’ve told you guys a million times to stay away from this place, haven’t I?” He gives them a chance to speak but they don’t. “I’m looking for an answer.”

 

They mumble their affirmations and he scoffs.

 

“Can any of you tell me why you thought it was such a good idea you just  _ had _ to go behind my back?” He’s still shouting as his anger mixes with pain and concern until it’s a jumble of overwhelming emotions inside his chest. “Anyone?”

 

Mike glances up. “It was Dustin’s idea.”

 

Dustin immediately starts to defend himself, but Steve’s not having any of that shit. “Zip it, Henderson!” Dustin’s mouth clamps shut. “I don’t fucking care whose idea it was, because no matter what, all you shitheads agreed to it!”

 

“I didn’t want to come,” Will says boldly and Steve  _ really  _ doesn’t want to yell at him, but he slips anyway.

 

“But look where you are, Will!” He shouts, and then Will looks back at the ground, frowning and the whole thing  _ pains  _ Steve. “If any one of you little shits died here, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, understand?” The kids look at him with wide eyes. “You’d die because of me and it would destroy me, and it would destroy your families, and then we’d all be  _ fucked _ . Are you listening to me?” The kids nod solemnly. “You broke my trust and you violated the most sacred rule of all.  _ Friends don’t lie _ .”

 

It’s quiet for a long time as the sun shines down on them, birds chirping in the distance. Dustin is sniffling when El says, cautiously, “We just wanted to check because you ran into one the other day.”

 

“So we thought maybe the Gate reopened or something,” Mike shrugs.

 

“And we wanted to help,” Max adds.

 

“We’re sorry,” Lucas says sincerely.

 

“We didn’t want to worry you,” Will explains softly and Steve sighs. Dustin’s quiet as tears stream down his cheeks and he feels like garbage. He kind of wants to cry, too, as the anger has left him with only guilt to wrestle with.

 

Steve walks up to Will at one end of the line and takes him by the chin. He uses his shirt to wipe the blood from his face, but it’s dried a little, so he has to lick his thumb and rub his face till it’s totally clean. “I forgive you guys,” he moves to Mike and wipes his face clean. “But I’m not gonna get over this too soon.” He continues with all of them, having to scrub a little harder under Eleven’s nose. He uses Dustin’s tears to his benefit as he cleans his face. When he’s done, Dustin wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and blubbers into his shirt, apologizing incoherently.

 

“Hey, hey,  _ hey _ , Dustin!” Steve says as gently as he can, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Apparently, it is, because Dustin quits wailing, face still pressed into Steve’s shirt, soaking it. “I already said I forgive you all.”

 

“But it was my idea,” Dustin insists, sniffing wetly.

 

“Sure it was, and I’m very disappointed in you, but I forgive you.”

 

“That’s worse than being mad at me!” Dustin cries, and Steve just holds him as he hiccups into his chest. He catches Billy’s eye and expects him to be laughing his ass off, but he’s not. He’s standing with his arms crossed, hip jutted out and maybe Steve’s crazy but he looks… impressed, almost. Billy’s looking back at him, so Steve rolls his eyes and shrugs, exasperated. Billy’s mouth quirks into a soft smile, a real, genuine smile and it’s another thing that overwhelms Steve so he looks away.

 

“Alright, we’re done here. Everyone get in the car. You’re all gonna have to squish.”

 

Dustin eventually unlatches and lets Steve pick his bat back up. When all the kids are in, Billy walks up to him, slowly, examining him. It’s intimidating.

 

“What?” Steve asks, bemused and a little scared. When Billy just smirks in response, he demands, “ _ What _ ?”

 

Billy shrugs, all composed. He looks even better than before, dark blood from the monster he killed splashed across his face, his hands are soaked in it, too, the sun hits his eyelashes and the shadow it casts on his cheeks is impressive. Meanwhile Steve’s got blood and snot all over his wrinkled shirt, he knows his hair is a mess and his eyes are wide, crazed.

 

But Billy’s looking at him like he doesn’t see all that. Or like he does but doesn’t feel the same way about it. “Just a little amazed, ‘s all,” Billy says and his voice is oddly light. He climbs into the car without waiting for Steve to respond.

 

Steve gets in, too, and makes the kids hold his dirty bat. It’s the least they can do.

 

“Are you gonna tell Hopper?”

 

Steve ignores Eleven’s question as Billy drives. Then, “Haven’t decided yet.”

 

They drop the kids off at the Byers’s, and then Billy is driving Steve home. He’s gonna be late to work.

 

Steve’s got his eyes closed, leaning his head back as Billy’s music plays faintly. They don’t say a word until they’re parked in front of Steve’s house.

 

“That was fucking fantastic, all of it.”

 

Steve turns his head slowly to look at Billy. He’s grinning wildly.

 

“Even the part where I yelled at your sister?” Steve feels exhausted but attempts to joke with him.

 

“ _ Yes _ .” Steve chuckles at that. “Especially that part.”

 

Billy’s eyes are wide and blue, and in Steve’s fried, overtired brain, they’re ridiculously pretty, too. Which he kind of finds strange because he’s never thought that about another guy’s eyes before. Whatever. He can’t find it in himself to fight the thought off.

 

Steve opens his door and says, “Thank you. You know. For saving my ass and everything.”

 

Billy just looks away and nods once. “It was a team effort.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees softly. “I guess we make a pretty good team.”

 

Billy looks at him then, all serious. “Yeah. We do.”

 

Steve gets out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, first of all, you can rip mother Steve from my cold dead hands. second, you're all way too kind. I mean it when I say that your lovely comments make my fucking day! thank you so much for reading, I sincerely hope you're enjoying my story.
> 
> I also have some questions, so feel free to answer in the comments:  
> 1\. how do you feel about the kids being major characters? would you like to see less of them in the story, or do you like them being in it?  
> 2\. is the pace I'm developing their relationship too quick, too slow, or just right?  
> 3\. how do you feel about zombies?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your feedback on the last chapter!! as far as the zombie thing goes, I don't think I'll be giving life to that idea bc honestly I'm not a big fan of zombies myself. it's cool if you are though! I just don't think I would be able to incorporate them into the story since I'm not crazy about them. I had the idea bc I saw this theory on youtube that freaked me out lol. I have another idea that I think you'll all enjoy!
> 
> again, thank you for reading! your comments make me so happy, you have no idea!

June is almost over and Billy’s not quite sure how that makes him feel. He’s stoked for the hot weather of July, for frying in the sun, the seemingly unending sunshine. And after experiencing the brutal winter in Hawkins, which he hated every second of, Billy needs the warmth even more. But summer always moves too fast, it feels like sand slipping through his fingers.

 

He’s making scrambled eggs and bacon for Max, who’s not awake yet because it’s seven in the morning and getting yelled at by your stand-in mother must really be tiring. He ashes his cigarette and chuckles when he thinks about Harrington reprimanding the kids, hands on his hips, all motherly and angry and  _ cute _ _._ He’s not exactly sure why he was so mesmerized by the whole ordeal, considering his usual response to displays of authority. It may be the fact that he knows Steve was only hurt, concerned for the kids, the fact that he was able to stand there and not raise a hand to any of them is just not something Billy’s familiar with. Steve’s not fucked up, and Billy finds that admirable.

 

And, God, being led by him into that creepy lab, potentially into a death trap. His wide eyes and that fucking bat he was swinging, with which he murdered that monster.  _ Demo-dog _ _,_ or something. He knows he’s messed up for finding it arousing, but so be it. Seeing Steve kill that thing was hot. Billy wanted to tell him how awesome he was, but the words faded before he could form them.

 

But, Christ, now Billy’s even more confused. What the fuck happened to that place, and where the hell are those monsters coming from, and who’s responsible, and how did  _ Steve _ get involved?

 

His mood turns sour thinking about it, thinking about being left in the dark, so he takes a drag on his cigarette which burns real good all the way down, and he cranks the volume on his stereo.  _ Kill ‘Em All. _ It fills him with an unnamable energy; not anger, not even adrenaline. Serenity, almost.

 

He plates his and Max’s breakfast and turns around only to be met with Max herself, scaring him half to death.

 

_ “Jesus,”  _ he hisses around his cigarette, heart pounding. He puts the plates on the table and shouts over the music, “You know how creepy it is when you do that shit?”

 

Her hair is frizzy and tangled, slept on, and she looks unhappy. She’s scowling at him. “Do you know what time it is?!” She screams at his back. He turns the music down.

 

“Time to eat,” he replies dryly and he knows she won’t yell at him any more because she loves bacon.

 

She looks like she’s about to scream some more, but, as predicted, she sees the food on her plate and sits down.

 

They eat in silence. Billy’s bare feet are cold against the kitchen floor so he brings them onto the chair and crosses his legs.

 

“Is there any particular reason you decided to make me breakfast?” Max speaks up before tearing into a piece of bacon.

 

Billy eyes her, bored, fork hanging from his fingers. “Pretty sure you’ll die if I don’t feed you, and you know how upset your mom would be if I killed you.”

 

He doesn’t have to look to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Hm. Well, I thought you were trying to get information out of me.”

 

He looks at her now and she’s got  _ that  _ face on. The one he inadvertently taught her. “Info, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” she nods, shoving eggs into her mouth. “Info regarding Party secrets.”

 

Billy’s eyes roll so far he’s temporarily blind. “Yeah, I’m just dyin’ to know all about your weird little friends.”

 

As if he doesn’t already know exactly who they are, where they live, and what their individual roles in the Party are.

 

She shoots him a warning look. “At least I have friends.”

 

Billy wants to be hurt by that but it’s too funny not to laugh. So he does, a little. “Hurtful.”

 

Max laughs a little, too. “Kidding,” she says quietly, then doesn’t say anything for a little. Then, out of the fucking blue, “Steve could be your friend.”

 

He nearly spits his coffee back into the cup. “Why would I wanna be friends with him?” It’s not phrased like a question at all.

 

Max shrugs, frowning. “I dunno, Billy, maybe because he’s funny and nice and  _ not _ an asshole?”

 

He makes a bored face. “Kinda weird though, right?” He’s not a fan of this conversation.

 

“And you’re not?” Her brow is raised, but she shakes her head, “That’s not the point-”

 

“What  _ is _ the point, Max, ‘cause you’re doing a shitty job at getting to it.”

 

She glares. “My point is that you need a friend like him. I know you like him, even if you’d kill yourself before admitting it.  _ Billy,”  _ she’s shoving his chair with her foot because he’s letting coffee run down his chin, making a face at her. “Plus, he can tell you everything I’m not allowed to tell you.” She looks down at her plate.

 

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He’s suddenly angry again. “About what, about those fucking creatures? About that lab? That’s great, ‘cause I’d really love to know what Harrington’s dragged you into, shit you’re not even allowed to talk about, shit that could kill you.”

 

He knows he’s being too loud because her eyes are silently begging him to calm down. He takes a breath and tries to do just that.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters against the lip of his mug some minutes later. “It’s just dangerous.”

 

“I know,” she’s quick to say. “Which is why we need you in the-” She cuts herself off and her eyes go wide. She stares at her fork.

 

“What was that?” He prods, genuinely confused. “In the what?”

 

“I’ve said too much.” She scarfs down the rest of her food and pushes away from the table, wooden chair creaking as it scrapes against the floor.

 

_ “Maxine,”  _ he warns because he absolutely can’t stand being left in the dark. He kind of knows what she was going to say, but he wants to hear it. His frustration is spiked, and so is his curiosity.

 

But he hears her bedroom door close and he slumps in his seat. Not five minutes later she’s riding past him on her skateboard. She’s not supposed to ride it inside, Neil made that clear, but Billy doesn’t comment on it because he’s a cool step-brother.

 

“I’m going to Will’s!” She throws over her shoulder and then he hears the front door slam shut, too hard and he cringes while waiting for something to fall over and shatter, but nothing breaks. He eases up.

 

“‘Kay,” he calls out to the silent house.

 

Like Max confirmed for him, he has precisely zero friends, so there’s not many options for him. He decides to do the dishes, then he vacuums and makes a grocery list and now he can’t make fun of Steve for being a mother. He goes into Max’s room to collect all the dirty clothes that are strewn about. He picks a shirt up off the floor and finds a tattered photograph underneath it. He picks it up, curious, and inspects it.

 

It’s of a drawing. There’s this looming creature in the sky, reaching down onto the ground. It’s black and its got all these arms, no face and it looks like a storm. Billy wrinkles his nose at it before tucking it into the waistband of his shorts.

 

-

 

It’s still early as he stretches, shirtless and warm in the fading sun, reaching down to touch his toes. He plops himself down on the stoop and laces his shoes up, basketball held tight between his feet. He rises and kicks the ball up towards himself.

 

Billy walks in the foggy morning to the high school, planning on shooting some hoops to kill all the time he has. He hasn’t played in a while, so once he’s there on the court outside, he lets the ball roll off to the edge of the court where the grass begins and drops down to do some pushups. Some ends up being fifty, which turns into a hundred, then a hundred and fifty and his arms ache so he stops and holds himself up in a plank position. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, ignoring the ache in his stomach and just breathing. He stops eventually and flops onto the cement, feels the sweat run hot down his temples. He turns over onto his stomach and does crunches, and when he’s through with those, he finally grabs the ball again and starts dribbling. Idly, behind his back, through his legs.

 

He’s shooting free throws now, and he’s made every one so far. He gets lost in the sound of the worn ball against the cement, the  _ swish _ of the ball through the chain net of the hoop, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. His blank mind betrays him, though, and then the image of that drawing he found in Max’s room pops into his head, distracts him and he watches the ball he just shot hit the rim and bounce away. He huffs, half in frustration and half in exertion.

 

“Gotta work on your form, Hargrove.”

 

He doesn’t turn at first. He looks at the ground, smiling. “You’re in no position to be giving me pointers, pretty boy.”

 

When he does turn to look at him, he kind of regrets it because he’s standing there with a ball held to his jutted hip, stupid dopey smile plastered on his face, wearing shorts tinier than the pair he wears for work. It kind of punches the air out of Billy’s lungs and he’s not smiling anymore.

 

Steve walks over to him and then Billy sees that his eyes are heavy and tired. “I guess you’re right,” he holds his ball between them, probably standing too close, glances up at Billy with a flickering smile. “I mean, you kinda saved our asses yesterday.”

 

“That’s what I get?  _ Kinda?”  _ Billy teases and Steve actually flushes a little. It fills him with a weird sense of pride.

 

“Yeah, well,” Steve fidgets, dribbles the ball slowly. “I don’t wanna inflate your ego, so.”

 

Billy rolls his eyes and laughs a little. “You can admit I’m a badass, y’know. I won’t tell anyone.” He’s smirking at Steve who, curiously, is actually meeting his eye.

 

“Alright, you’re a badass,” he speaks lowly and Billy, dammit, melts a little, turning into a puddle in his shoes. Steve’s head is tilted downward but he’s looking up at him through his lashes, all pretty and Billy wants to slap the ball from his dumb hands. “If you didn’t come I would’ve died, probably.”

 

“Probably,” Billy echoes and he knows he’s giving Steve eyes so he clears his throat and takes the ball from him. “Now it’s time to kick your ass.”

 

A grin spreads across Steve’s face. Billy lets him have first possession because he’s weak, they check the ball and then they play.

 

At first, Billy doesn’t play very hard. He lets Steve take some shots he could have easily blocked, he doesn’t play as aggressively as he typically does. That is, he doesn’t until Steve says after making a layup, “What’s the matter, Hargrove? Not in the mood to push me around?”

 

Billy laughs at him, at his ridiculous hair and his crazy eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you, pretty boy.”

 

Steve scoffs and they continue their game with Billy actually upping his effort. A little, because every holler of victory that Steve lets out after scoring is too entertaining to put an end to.

 

Steve wins because Billy let him, and he circles around him, taunting. “What was that about being a badass? Huh? About kicking my ass?”

 

And with Steve practically dancing around him, all sweaty and happy, he’s getting dizzy with the sight of him, skin slick and grinning, with his  _ scent _ and Billy wills his body to calm down.

 

“You’re awfully arrogant for someone who’s about to lose.”

 

Steve makes a face at him and Billy waggles his tongue because he can’t help it. He hands Billy the ball, “Here you are,  _ loser.” _

 

Again, Billy lets Steve have his fun. His defense is solid, he makes sure to make it hard for Steve that way, but he misses shots on purpose. Steve continues to whoop and holler and make fun of Billy.

 

At one point, Steve ends up knocking Billy over when he goes up for a layup. He hits the ground but he barely feels it because he’s bowled over by Steve’s aggression. Kind of turned on, too, but that’s not relevant.

 

Steve offers his hand to him, giggling. Billy takes it and he’s lifted off the ground. Steve tugs him closer and says through a smirk, “Plant your feet, pretty boy.” He shoves Billy away, and saunters off, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

 

He knows he’s going to have dreams about this for  _ weeks.  _ His face is burning and he can’t even blame it on exercise or the weather, because he hasn’t been going hard and it’s gotten cold out.

 

He gets this intrusive image of him shoving Steve’s cocky smirk into the grass and taking him right there, but he shakes his head and focuses on the game.

 

“That’s how it’s gonna be?” Billy challenges, cocking his head.

 

“That’s how it is,” Steve confirms, smug.

 

So Billy decides to stop going easy on him. He’s rough and swift and he blocks every shot, he makes point after point and Steve is helpless. He’s not laughing at Billy anymore, and when Billy points that out, Steve makes a face. He erupts into a crazed cackle at Steve’s misfortune.

 

When Billy inevitably wins, Steve pants, “I was just going easy on you.” Billy raises his brows at him but doesn’t say anything.

 

Winning the third game is a breeze for Billy. He sighs when it’s over, smiling at Steve who’s pouting. Steve spins around and heads over to the grass. He flops down with a huff, Billy can hear it from where he’s standing under the hoop. He wanders over to Steve and joins him on the soft grass, close but careful not to touch him.

 

They’re both panting in the gray morning. Beside him, Steve is quiet as they both stare upward.

 

The weather has changed drastically from when Billy left his house, now there’s a heavy fog settling over them and it’s cold, goosebumps prickle his skin. He cools down quickly and he’s still slick with sweat, laying in the lush green grass as he runs the blades through his fingertips. His nerves are humming with an energy he can only identify as  _ Steve,  _ running through his blood and making his fingers buzz. He doesn’t know what to say or if he should say anything at all.

 

“It’s gonna rain,” Steve observes, a hand behind his head as the other runs idly over the blades of grass. He accidentally bumps Billy’s pinkie.

 

Billy doesn’t respond, there’s nothing to say, but then he’s vomiting words, “When are you gonna tell me?”

 

Steve’s quiet. The fog seems to thicken. “You know Eleven?”

 

Billy’s suddenly eager to listen, excited to finally have this big mystery explained to him, but he doesn’t let that show in his voice. “Curly hair. The weird one.”

 

Steve snorts. “They’re all weird.”

 

“Must be why you get along so well with them.” Billy turns his head and pokes his tongue out.

 

Steve turns and looks back at him before ripping a handful of grass up and shoving it in Billy’s face. Billy spits and rubs his face furiously.  _ “Anyway,”  _ Steve says, exasperated. “She has… certain, um… abilities.”

 

Billy thinks about the night Steve showed him the demo-dog in his trunk. “...Such as?”

 

“She can,” he sighs, probably searching for words. “Move stuff with her mind, and, uh,  _ find _ people.”

 

Steve sounds unsure of himself and Billy’s only more confused. “Like telekinesis or some shit?”

 

“Yes!” Steve confirms, throwing an excited hand into the air. “Tele-telekinesis.” He pauses for a moment and Billy looks over at him, waiting. “That night, at the junkyard? She stopped you from opening my trunk, remember? And then she got a bloody nose. That happens, you know, when she uses her powers.”

 

“Powers...” Billy echoes, testing the word. He wants to laugh in Steve’s face and dismiss him entirely, but after seeing those monsters and  _ feeling  _ Eleven’s supposed powers, he finds it increasingly difficult to write it all off as science fiction. “And how did she get her powers?”

 

Steve turns sharply toward him. “You believe me?”

 

Billy’s a little surprised. “Well, yeah. Didn’t think I would?”

 

“No, no, it’s just-” he sighs again, running a hand through his hair. It’s damp with sweat around his face and Billy wants to copy his movement. His hands twitch in the grass. “It seems a little unbelievable, doesn’t it?”

 

“We’ll see. Finish your story.” He says it in the softest tone he can manage, hopes he’s not too demanding. The last thing he wants is for Steve to stop talking.

 

Steve’s quiet for a long time and Billy’s worried he’s not gonna continue, but then he says, “About a year before you and Max came to Hawkins, Will went missing.”

 

Billy becomes absorbed in the story, and not just because it’s Steve who’s telling it. The cold closes in on them as Steve goes on about gates that lead to other dimensions, government experiments, a monster he calls the Demogorgon, the fake body the cops found in the quarry. Joyce’s lights, Barbara Holland, an evil man named Dr. Brenner, whose name alone makes Billy shiver. He stumbles over words here and there but Billy understands him perfectly. When he’s done, Billy’s quiet for a long time.

 

“You...went back?”

 

Steve looks over at him with those big brown eyes all wide. “What?”

 

“When it almost got Nancy and Jonathan. You went back and killed it?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Eleven killed it, but I guess I got it pretty good. Jonathan set the bastard on fire, Nancy put some bullets in it, too.”

 

Billy hums.

 

“What?”

 

“Sounds pretty badass to me.”

 

He watches Steve bite back a grin. “If you say so.”

 

“I do.” Billy shivers as a breeze blows through. “But I’m not really clear on why you were at the Byers’s.”

 

Steve is quiet for a minute so Billy looks over at him, thinking maybe he didn’t hear him. “Steve?”

 

“Yeah, well, Nancy and I were kind of dating and I saw her with Jonathan, so I assumed the worst and,” he swallows, cutting himself off. His voice is strained when he continues. “I let Tommy and Carol say some bad things about her. To the whole town. And I didn’t stop them because I was hurt,” Billy can tell he doesn’t like that word, he makes a face when he says it, “And then Jonathan and Nancy came and, well. I said some pretty fucked up things and Jonathan ended up beating my ass, which I totally deserved, by the way, and then I told Tommy and Carol to fuck off. And so I went to apologize to Jonathan and ended up getting…” he trails off, hand fluttering in the air.

 

“Involved?” Billy suggests and Steve turns to him and nods, grinning despite the situation.

 

“I was a real asshole.”

 

Billy’s not totally sure of what to say because, from what he’s just heard, Steve may have been an asshole, but he was still better than Billy. Besides, he wasn’t like that anymore. Billy’s only known him as this sweet, nervous guy that he sees now. He can’t even imagine Steve as anything else.

 

“But that wasn’t you,” Billy insists before he can think twice. “You were just angry, and that doesn’t make it alright, but you made up for it.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They’re silent for a long time, both of them trying to understand things that are hard to believe.

 

“Y’know, the story’s not over,” Steve says through a yawn. “Sometimes I don’t think it ever will be.”

 

He turns over onto his stomach, chin resting in his arms “What do you mean?”

 

Steve stretches his back out and Billy covertly watches his spine curve over the grass. “Will wasn’t okay. Around the time you and Max got here, he started, I don’t know,  _ seeing  _ things, I guess. And he got, like, possessed or something.”

 

_ “What?”  _ Billy’s believed everything Steve has told him, but now he thinks Steve’s just messing with him. “Possessed by what, by a fuckin’ demon?”

 

“No,” Steve is quick to deny. He leans up on an elbow, looking at Billy. “The kids called it the Mind Flayer. It’s like a shadow, basically. And I guess it just reached into Will and used him. To spy on Hawkins so it could, um, take over.”

 

Billy thinks about the photo he found in Max’s room. “I think I’ve seen it before. The Mind Flayer.”

 

Steve goes pale. “You have?”

 

“Not in real life, calm down,” Billy quickly assures him. “My sister had a picture of it in her room. I didn’t know what it was.”

 

Steve’s brows knit. “I don’t know why she would have a picture of it. Anyway,” he drops the subject, shaking his head. “It got Will.”

 

And so Steve goes on like that, describing the tunnels, the infested lab, the night at the junkyard which ended in him getting beaten to a bloody pulp. Steve, bless his heart, eloquently avoids that part of the story. But something itches in Billy’s chest; he doesn’t want to ignore that part.

 

“...and then El closed the gate.” He finishes, smiling a little, but Billy watches as his eyes cloud over. “But now, y’know, those things are back I guess. I don’t know why.”

 

“I was just angry.” Billy didn’t mean to say it, but he did.

 

“Hm?” Steve looks up at him from where he was pulling at the grass.

 

“You know. When I broke your face.” Billy cringes at his own words but tries to continue. “I was angry and it had nothing to do with you. Nothing.” It’s half the truth; sometimes he gets angry because he’s living in a constant state of being able to look but not touch. To see and not have. He struggles to come up with words and Steve steps in.

 

“It’s fine-”

 

_ “No,”  _ Billy insists harshly, instantly mad at himself for being so unhinged. “It’s not fine at all. You can’t tell me it is ‘cause it’s not, Steve.” Steve’s face is soft, a little cautious and Billy wishes he didn’t cause him to look like that. So sad and guilty, as if anything is his fault. “I’m sorry. For everything, you know?”

 

Steve looks at him, blank for a minute before he nods, slowly. He resumes tugging the grass from the dirt. “Good,” Billy says quietly and his throat feels raw, as if he’d been screaming.

 

The fog’s so thick by now that when he sticks his hand out in front of himself, it becomes partially veiled, blurry. The air is unnaturally cold, there’s a chill surrounding them. Billy focuses on his rapid heartbeat, pulsing wildly after being so candid and unsure of what Steve’s reaction would be. Luckily, he seems to be forgiven. He can admit now that he was afraid he wouldn’t be.

 

He sees out of the corner of his eye that Steve is looking at him. He glances and is unsurprised  when Steve’s eyes flicker away. But he’s trying to hide a smile.

 

“What’re you smiling about, Harrington?”

 

Steve looks at him again. “It wasn’t you. You made up for it, anyway.”

 

He’s confused for a second but then he realizes Steve’s using his own words, and this feeling rushes through him and his stomach’s in knots. “Think so?”

 

“Definitely.” Steve isn’t smiling, but he’s looking at Billy with this serious expression, eyes narrow like it’s a big secret. Billy stares back, heart a mess and unsure of what to say.

 

Thunder rumbles overhead and the spell is broken when Steve frowns up at the sky. Billy feels a cool drop of rain on his back. “This blows,” Billy mumbles into his arms, eyes closed as he attempts to ignore the rain as it comes down harder. Steve laughs at him.

 

“C’mon,” he says, standing. He dusts his shorts off as Billy rolls onto his back and then offers him a hand. Pulling him to his feet, he says, “Lets go to my house.”

 

Billy’s not an expert, but it sure sounds like something a friend would say.

 

-

 

They end up running to Steve’s house. What was a mere thunderstorm swiftly transforms into a torrential downpour. The wind is whipping the trees, making the rainfall slant as the thunder rumbles louder and louder over their heads. But the two of them are laughing like maniacs, caught in the storm, sprinting through the streets, practically dancing. They cut across someone’s lawn and Steve slips in the slick grass, falling flat onto his stomach with a grunt. Billy, distracted by laughing at him, runs into a stop sign and groans in pain as it smacks him in the forehead. Steve cackles at him. Billy’s got a red mark on his head that’s quickly raising, and Steve has a streak of mud across his leg.

 

They get to Steve’s house. Steve slips again on the steps leading to his front door, but Billy grabs him around the waist and keeps him from cracking his skull. Again. Steve, with rain pouring down his face, smiles madly at him before opening the door.

 

Their wet shoes squeak against the wood floor as they toe them off, Billy following Steve’s lead. Steve yanks his sopping wet shirt over his head, sticking a little to his slick skin on the way up and Billy allows himself a lingering glance. He’s seen him in much, much less, but right now it feels too personal to let himself stare.

 

With his hair dripping down his back, Billy looks around, observing the spacious house. He shivers a little and follows Steve around as he closes all the windows, decides not to ask why they were open anyway, stepping carefully around as if he can avoid dripping onto the carpet of the living room.

 

“Are your parents home?”

 

“Uh, no. They’re on a couple’s vacation, to work on their marriage or something. As if there’s anything left to work on.” Billy almost winces at the bitter tone in his voice and decides not to ask anything else about his parents.

 

He follows Steve to the kitchen and Steve disappears for a minute. Billy has a moment alone and experiences a brief second in which reality seems altered; he’s almost naked, soaking wet in Steve Harrington’s kitchen, who is also wet and scantily dressed, after being told that monsters and extra dimensions exist and the government does experiments on kids so they can defeat the Russians. Right. So this is his life now.

 

There’s worse ways to live.

 

Steve returns with a towel around his shoulders and offers Billy his own. It’s fluffy and yellow and too soft to be real. Billy takes it even though it’s way too nice for him to use. “Thank you.”

 

“Coffee?” Steve asks as he moves to the coffeemaker.

 

“Hell yeah,” Billy affirms, wiping his face with the towel. “I mean, yes, please.”

 

Steve’s shoulders shake as he chuckles. Billy sits on a stool at the island, towel wrapped around his hips as he watches Steve make their coffee. When it begins to brew, Steve turns and leans on the island.

 

“I need to ask you something.”

 

Billy ignores the million things that invade his thoughts and says coolly, “Lemme hear it.”

 

Steve taps his fingers against the counter. “It’s kind of dumb. You’ll probably laugh at me.” Listening to Steve’s voice grow increasingly anxious is actual torture. “You know what? Forget it.” He begins muttering to himself, and Billy’s pretty sure that’s something he does when he’s nervous. Which is fairly often.

 

_ “Steve,”  _ he interrupts Steve’s conversation with himself. “Ask me.”

 

Steve gives in with a huff and says in one breath (something Billy is starting to find terribly endearing), “The kids, well, really just El and I - and Max, too - want to know if you’re, like, down to join the Party.”

 

He gives Billy half a second to respond, and then he’s mumbling, “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, y’know? Like, who would want to have a bunch of kids as friends, I know, but they’re pretty cool, and they like you. Well, Max does, and so does Eleven. Will doesn’t really care. I mean, he  _ cares,  _ but, like-”

 

Billy’s stomach is doing somersaults and his heart is booming in his chest. He decides to save Steve from stumbling on and fucking on. “Jesus, Harrington, do you want my answer or do you wanna keep hearing your own voice?” He smiles so Steve knows he’s not being malicious.

 

Steve’s mouth clamps shut and he nods.

 

“Sure,” Billy shrugs like he wasn’t just invited to be a part of Steve’s world. Like he’s not thrilled about it. “I’ll make it fun.”

 

Steve’s smile is so warm and relieved that Billy wants to actually cry. He doesn’t, obviously. He does have a little self control left.

 

“I’m sure,” he says and turns back to the coffee. He grabs two mugs from the cabinet and fills them with steaming coffee. “How do you take it?”

 

He  _ nearly  _ says, “Up the ass,” but he remembers who he’s talking to and says, “Black.”

 

Steve scoops what Billy believes to be an ungodly amount of sugar into his own cup and turns back to him. He puts Billy’s mug down in front of him.

 

Steve clutches his mug, elbows on the island as he leans in. Billy pretends to be busy sopping up water from his shorts with his towel but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him.

 

“Your hair’s real curly,” Steve observes and Billy’s not sure what to make of the statement.

 

“Oh?” Is all he can squeak out, before sipping his coffee. He looks up at Steve in time to watch his face flush.

 

Steve clears his throat and takes a gulp of his own coffee. “I kind of feel the need to warn you that Dustin and Mike aren’t gonna be happy about you joining. No offense,” he adds sheepishly.

 

“None taken. I didn’t really think they’d be welcoming.”

 

“Well, Mike will probably get over it once he realizes that El wants you around. Dustin’s gonna be the difficult one.” He rolls his eyes but Billy knows enough to understand that it comes from a place of affection. And then he tilts his head a little, mumbling, “He’ll get over it, too, though. When he realizes that I want you around.”

 

For a second, Billy thinks he misheard him. Then it registers, and his stomach does a complete flip and he absolutely does not look at Steve. “Okay,” he shrugs and gulps his coffee, focusing on not choking.

 

By now, the storm has stopped. Thunder rumbles in the distance but the rain has passed. Upon noticing this, Billy slips off the stool and lays the towel over it. He swallows the rest of his coffee.

 

“I should get going,” he says because he’s feeling all these emotions and he just needs to go home and drown them out. “Thanks for the coffee.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve blinks and smiles all dopey and Billy  _ has  _ to go before he does something incredibly dumb. “No problem.”

 

He ends up walking barefoot, swinging his shoes by their laces, socks bunched up in his other hand. When he steps inside his house, Max is laying on the couch reading a magazine. She looks up at him and grimaces.

 

“Ew. Why aren’t you dressed?”

 

“That’s no way to speak to a fellow Party member, Max.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: rating and panic attacks tag become relevant. there's also a bit of gore.

“No, no, no, no,  _ no.” _ Lucas sets his shake down firmly on the table and the glass makes a hard  _ clink  _ sound. “No, Steve. Absolutely not.”

 

He tries to defend himself but Mike speaks up before he can get a word out. “What made you think inviting  _ Billy  _ into the Party was a good idea?”

 

“You have to consult with all of us before making such a big decision, Steve,” Dustin reminds him sternly as if he’s the one in charge, not the other way around.

 

Steve narrows his eyes at them. Honestly, it’s going smoother than he predicted it would, considering no one is screaming. Yet. But that’s not to say they’re accepting his decision.

 

“Look,” he says, taking his stupid Scoops Ahoy hat off to indicate just how serious he is. “Billy’s changed-”

 

Mike, Lucas, and Dustin all begin to passionately deny that statement, but Steve shushes them with a zipping gesture and they shut up, glaring at him. He ignores their defiant stares and begins wiping tables down.

 

“He  _ has.  _ He helped me save your sorry asses, didn’t he?” He fixes them with a look and they roll their eyes. They’re never going to live that one down. “With all these new demo-dogs, we could use his strength.” Steve slows his movement, the wet rag in his hand warm as his mind drifts without his permission. Time freezes and he’s thinking about when Billy grabbed him and pulled him into that supply closet, wrinkling his shirt in his clenched fist, when he caught Steve like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. And when he killed that particularly nasty demo-dog, twisting his knife into its neck without mercy and then, suddenly, his brain is showing him the sweat he’d seen drip down Billy’s naked chest earlier that day, but also every day in gym, the veins in his strong arms and then Steve’s shaking his head because what the  _ hell.  _ He clears his throat and looks at the kids, who are all staring at him expectantly. “Uh,” his voice is raspy so he clears his throat again. “I’m not the only one who wants him in the Party, by the way.”

 

Mike’s brows furrow and he’s looking around at his friends, all squeezed together in a booth. He looks at Will curiously, but Will quickly shakes his head. “It’s not me,” he denies and then scans his friends’ faces before looking down at his hands.

 

“I do,” Eleven speaks up confidently. Steve watches Mike’s eyes go wide. “I told Steve that I wanted Billy to be inducted into the Party.”

 

Lucas immediately starts shouting, and then Dustin’s shouting over him, and Mike begins to defend Eleven. “Shut up! Both of you.” They do. Max chuckles at the situation. “Eleven must have a reason. Right, El?” Mike turns to her, smiling a little.

 

“Yes. I like him.” With her simple explanation, she finishes her ice cream cone, all satisfied with herself.

 

Lucas and Dustin gape at her in disbelief, but Mike shrugs, seemingly accepting her reasoning as being perfectly sound. Steve chuckles because he just knew Mike would relent once he knew the whole thing was El’s idea.

 

“So we’re just going to let this maniac into our Party because Eleven  _ likes  _ him?” Lucas questions incredulously, and Steve knows from his tone that he’s very close to blowing up. Luckily, Max speaks up before that can happen.

 

“Steve’s right, Lucas.” Her arms are crossed, reluctant but honest. “We could really use Billy’s strength. And he has changed, a lot, actually. It’s weird, but… it’s good, too.” She grins up at Lucas, who sighs but eventually mirrors her expression.

 

They’re all silent for a second, the only sound being the radio quietly playing pop music throughout the ice cream shop. Dustin stares around at all of them, waiting for someone else to challenge the proposal. No one does.

 

“Wait. We’re not actually doing this, are we?” His eyes are becoming wider with each passing second. “Don’t tell me we’re inducting  _ Billy Hargrove  _ into the Party. Guys!”

 

“Dustin,” Will says softly, smiling. “Calm down. It won’t be so bad.”

 

“You’re okay with this, Will?” Dustin asks in disbelief. Will just shrugs, which makes Dustin fall back against the booth, exasperated. “Oh my god. Oh my  _ god,  _ someone please tell me this is a joke!”

 

“You’re outnumbered, Dustin,” Mike points out. “You’re the only one who has a problem with this.”

 

“You had a problem with it two seconds ago!” Dustin shouts, and Steve laughs because he’s right. All it took was Eleven’s approval for Mike to shift his mindset, and the same thing for Lucas when Max voiced her support. And Will was easily swayed, so whatever the majority of the Party wanted, he went along with. Steve noticed this about Will and found his distaste toward conflict endearing.

 

Steve tunes their bickering out as he continues cleaning up but eventually, he has to kick them out. Hopper picks the kids up, as they’re having a sleepover at the cabin, and Steve drives home in the rain. He vaguely hopes the next day is sunny and warm; it’s summer, after all. But he also wouldn’t mind another rainy day dedicated to catching up on sleep, or at least trying to.

 

By the time he’s home, he’s too exhausted to even shower and ends up just peeling his uniform off in the nighttime glow peeking through his open blinds. He puts a record on  _ (Sheer Heart Attack),  _ lowers the volume and then makes sure the hallway light is on. He doesn’t like sleeping in complete silence nor the total darkness of night, and maybe that makes him pathetic, but he doesn’t care all that much. It doesn’t help that he knows he’s alone in the big house, susceptible to an attack without the comforting knowledge of having another human with him. He’s worried he won’t get a wink of sleep tonight.

 

But he’s so tired that he’s slipping into sleep halfway through  _ Killer Queen. _

 

A dream comes to him, but it’s messy and unclear. At first, he’s in the woods and he’s running, lungs burning, it’s nighttime and he knows why he must be running. He hears the purrs of what must be a dozen demo-dogs, chasing him through the humid night. He steals a glance backward, but everything’s in slow motion, the bodies of the monsters blurring across his line of vision so he turns back to look ahead. Suddenly, there’s a rogue monster in front of him, flying up at his face and knocking him onto his back, hard. The wind is knocked out of him and he’s gasping for air as all of the demo-dogs seem to merge into one full grown Demogorgon looming above him. He’s being pinned to the forest floor, he can feel the wet leaves soak through his shirt, but suddenly the trees high above him disappear and the Demogorgon is a cloud of dust. He’s floating in his pool, it’s still night and the water’s warm, almost hot like a bath, but the monster re-appears above him on the diving board. It’s only a blurry, dark silhouette, but it’s clear enough to make tears spring to Steve’s eyes as he awaits the painful death brought on by its gaping face, revealing sharp teeth which, oddly enough, he can see more clearly than the monster itself. He hears it laugh at him, and he can’t move. But then the monster cries out in pain, twitching and convulsing unnaturally, until it seems to be sucked in and crushed by some great, unknown force, and it’s gone. Steve’s relieved but he still can’t move, floating listlessly in the warm water. Another figure materializes above him on the diving board, but it’s a human, he knows, a man. Someone strong, he can see the outline of his muscles, and whoever it is jumps into the air. Before he can land in the water, Steve squeezes his eyes shut but the force of the jump never comes. He opens his eyes and sees he’s still floating, but there’s nothing. It’s blackness and it should scare him but he’s comforted instead. It’s totally silent, he can hear his own heartbeat and the image of the man comes back to him. He can move now, so he swings his arms as if he’s swimming, and is only now aware that he’s completely naked, yet he’s not embarrassed. He moves closer to the man, but his vision doesn’t clear, he still can’t tell who this is before him. The man is suddenly rushing toward him, but Steve just lets him crowd his space. Then, to his confusion, there’s teeth against his jaw, his neck, biting down into his flesh and it… feels  _ good,  _ he wants to ask for more but he can’t speak, the man’s mouth is moving up his chin to his lips but suddenly they’re pulled apart. The man’s a million miles away but Steve sees a flash of blue eyes under strong brows, and the dream is breaking up, he’s waking up and groaning.

 

His dick is painfully hard, so he shifts onto his stomach and thrusts lazily against the mattress, moaning at the relief the friction brings. He reaches down and grips himself, it’s almost too hard but he’s so desperate that he’s thrusting wildly into his own hand, like an animal. He’s moaning quietly, just enough to be heard over the music that’s still playing softly, until his pleasure builds and coils tightly in his gut. His thighs are trembling, tense as he tries not to drool onto his pillow. With one last thrust and a swipe of his thumb over the wet slit of his cock, he’s coming, mouth open and silent. When his orgasm ends, body buzzing pleasantly, he can’t do more than wipe his hand off on the sheets and groan weakly into his pillow.

 

He doesn’t want to analyze what he just dreamt about, at all. He knows who he saw, whose mouth that was on his neck, but he’s past the point of exhaustion and cannot for the life of him find it in himself to care about what it all might mean. Not now, when he can keep it a secret until he falls back asleep and forgets about it by the time morning rolls around.

 

-

 

Steve peeks from underneath the covers at the faint morning sunshine streaming in from his window. A balmy breeze blows through his room, making the blinds  _ tap, tap  _ against the windowsill as he sits up and stretches. His back cracks pleasantly and another cool breeze comes in and envelopes him in its refreshing embrace.

 

Last night was the most rest he’s gotten in months. For once, he feels rejuvenated and present, like he’s actually living again. Ever since the whole thing with the Demogorgon, he’s not been able to take care of himself like he knows he has to. And breaking up with Nancy didn’t help his situation; as much as he hates to admit it to himself, losing her meant losing his sense of self worth. He’s been wrapped up in this world of fighting monsters and battling interdimensional forces for so long, it seems, and he’s both traumatized and exhausted by it all. Protecting the kids has been one of the only things that steadies him in these times of chaos. His relationship to them has evolved from being a promise to keep them safe for Nancy’s sake, into this great big beautiful thing. He genuinely cares for each of them and feels this inexplicable urge to help them, guide them, make them laugh and bandage their wounds. Sometimes he wonders,  _ ‘Should I be this involved?’  _ After all, they all have parents of their own, it’s not like they’re some poor orphans he’s decided to take under his wing. It’s not like they  _ need _ him.

 

Maybe he’s overstepping some boundary he doesn’t understand, thanks to his own parents’ failure to teach him what it is, exactly, that a mother or a father does for their child. His fear is that, one day, someone like Joyce or Mrs. Wheeler will say to him, “Stop. Let  _ me _ do this for my kid.” It’s unlikely, but when Steve’s anxious, it’s hard to get a notion out of his head. Maybe his help was appreciated at first, but now it could just be annoying everyone. The idea that perhaps he’s  _ too  _ big a part of their lives is scaring the shit out of him, so he forces his brain to cut it out.

 

But, if he’s right and his presence in the kids’ lives has become unbearable, why did Billy look at him like he was doing something right? His thoughts drift to the subject of Billy as he sits on the edge of his bed, the morning air causing goosebumps to prickle his skin.

 

Billy, who had listened as he stumbled through a shitty retelling of the events plaguing his every waking moment, believed him, which was both unexpected and relieving, and then accepted  _ without hesitation _ Steve’s invitation into the Party. Without a clue as to why, his thoughts are stuck in a loop, starting with how Billy’s face lit up when he showed up at the basketball court, to him perched on the stool in his kitchen, with images of him smiling or the slits of his narrowed blue eyes interspersed. He sits thinking like that for a few minutes, then suddenly realizes what he’s doing and jolts upright onto his socked feet.

 

He grimaces at the feeling of dried come on his stomach, which instantly reminds him of his dream. Pictures his mind conjured up come flooding back into his wired brain. He shudders, running a hand through his hair to steady himself and then heads quickly in the direction of the bathroom. A cold shower is all he needs to calm himself.

 

So he showers and brushes his teeth, a recent improvement in his hygiene, he hates to admit, then goes to the kitchen where he forces himself to eat a bowl of cereal. It’s bland and difficult to swallow, but it fills his stomach. Instead of wrestling with what a wreck he is, he pulls on a tattered blue shirt and shorts, intending to leave his empty house. He puts a pair of old shoes on and reaches to shut his window, glancing down at the glittering pool when a dark shape catches his eye, floating in the blue ripples. He freezes because, although he can’t tell what it is from his bedroom window, he has this sinking feeling in his gut that’s only ever been an indicator that something bad is going to happen. He swallows his fear, though, and calmly descends the stairs, approaches the sliding glass door leading to the backyard and opens it up.

 

He takes careful, measured steps toward the pool, not letting his gaze fall on whatever it is that’s kind of ruining his already iffy morning. _‘Maybe it’s just a deflated pool toy,’_ he tries to convince himself, even as he finally comes close enough to see that it’s a dead raccoon, floating lifelessly in his disused pool.

 

His mind shuts off as his eyes go wide, following the stream of blood as it flows in the undulating water, right up the side of the pool and across the deck until it stops in a sticky, dark red mess under his feet. He steps back into the grass, leaving red footprints on the deck that he refuses to look at. Wiping his feet, he takes a deep breath and grabs the skimmer.

 

Steve dips the skimmer into the water, underneath the raccoon, and lifts. He wants to close his eyes but he doesn’t, fearing he’ll drop the body right back into the water, further scattering its guts which float nearby. He swiftly scoops those up, too, resisting the urge to gag as he sweeps the head of the skimmer over into the grass. He knows he has to inspect it, but the fact that it’s his responsibility to doesn’t make the sight of its torn, bloody body any easier.

 

He sets the skimmer down carefully in the lush green grass and moves closer to look at the limp, soaking body of the raccoon. As he’d feared, its stomach is torn open, revealing its insides, intestines spilling out. This time, he does gag. He lurches forward as his gut twists disgustingly, but all that comes is that sweet-tasting saliva that he hates so much because he knows it’s his body’s reaction to fear. His stomach clenches painfully, trying desperately to rid him of his meager breakfast, but he’s luckily able to keep it down.

 

Wiping his mouth, he turns back to the dead body, face pinched in revulsion. He doesn’t need any more evidence, as he knows a demo-dog is responsible, so he ignores the flies covering the darkened coat of the raccoon, the dripping blood and guts, the way its head hangs so helplessly when he lifts the skimmer and walks it toward the edge of the woods.

 

The calming sounds of the woods, the singing birds and chirping cicadas, are misleading, Steve thinks with a hint of contempt as he heads deeper into the shade of countless trees. He finds a bush that he deems far enough away that he won’t be able to smell the damn thing as it rots, and dumps the body, skimmer and all. He shudders and turns quickly away.

 

And that’s when Steve sees his second dead body of the morning.

 

A deer lies a few paces to his left, its dark eyes rolled back, mouth gaping. He doesn’t have to get closer to it to see that its stomach is ripped open and that whatever beast attacked it decided to relieve it of its insides. He feels his feet go numb and his heart is frozen in his chest. He has to lean against a nearby tree so he doesn’t fall to the ground.

 

He breathes deeply and slowly like Hopper taught him to, doing his utter best to will away a panic attack, if that’s even what he’s been experiencing these past few months.

 

That wound is too big for a single demo-dog to cause. A group of them could’ve done that, definitely.

 

A full grown Demogorgon could have, too.

 

It’s this thought that has him righting himself and leaving the woods, gasping for air. In his yard, he watches his back as he quickly washes the blood from the deck. He makes a call to have the pool emptied; it’s way past time for that, anyway. And then he gets in his car and speeds to Hopper’s.

 

-

 

Steve’s knocking against the cabin door is incessant, cut off when the door swings open after a series of  _ clicks,  _ revealing a disheveled Hopper. He doesn’t look happy to see Steve.

 

“What the hell?” He doesn’t sound happy, either.

 

Steve forgets his manners and shoves past his hulking figure, into the cabin where he paces back and forth, muttering.

 

“Steve!” Hopper calls, shutting the door behind him. He’s wearing pajama pants (Steve didn’t think men his age even  _ owned _ pajamas) and a blue robe. His hair is in disarray and suddenly Steve is aware of the sound of a cartoon playing on the TV, the strong scent of brewing coffee, and the clear absence of children. “What’s going on?”

 

“Where are the kids?” He asks because he’s genuinely confused, but because he is who he is, that confusion swiftly transforms into worry. He hates that he often assumes the worst.

 

“They went to the arcade soon as they finished breakfast,” Hopper explains slowly, looking at Steve like he’s grown another head. “Wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”

 

Steve looks at him for a minute and then slumps back onto the couch, sighing.

 

Hopper walks behind him into the kitchen. A moment later, he’s sitting next to Steve, offering a steaming cup of coffee to him.

 

“Thanks,” Steve sighs, trying his best to smile and probably failing. Hopper must not care though, because he smiles back. After taking a sip, Steve says, “Found something in my pool this morning.”

 

Hopper’s smile falters but doesn’t disappear. “Yeah? What’d you find?”

 

“Dead raccoon. And then I found a dead deer in the woods.” Steve’s looking at the TV. “It was there and I had no idea.” He shivers at the thought.

 

Hopper sighs next to him, and he’s slow to respond, taking his sweet time sipping his own cup of coffee. “That doesn’t necessarily mean-”

 

“No, Hopper, it does,” Steve insists, watching Hopper’s face fall into that odd combination of defeat and determination that he wears so well. “It does. The deer was  _ drained, _ it was empty. What else could have done that?”

 

Hopper doesn’t respond; he doesn’t have to.

 

“I’m just,” Steve begins, shakily. He inhales sharply and starts again. “I’m just worried we could be dealing with more than a few stray demo-dogs.”

 

Hopper leans forward on the couch, stroking his chin. “Yeah. Yeah, but,” he sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I thought El closed the Gate. I thought we were done with that place, I thought she could just…” He trails off, frowning.

 

Steve wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how. He can’t say everything will be okay, because he doesn’t  _ know  _ that. Right as the kids, Joyce and Hopper, and even himself, Nancy, and Jonathan began thinking maybe it was over, the gates of hell reopen. He considers telling Hopper about finding the kids at the lab, but something tugs in his chest, advising him not to. He swallows his words and instead says, “You know, I’ll never let anything happen to her. Or any of them.”

 

Hopper turns to look at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He smiles sadly, but it’s real and it’s for Steve. “I know. Thanks, kid.” And then he says without preamble, “But I’m not gonna let anything happen to anyone. Okay?”

 

The way he’s speaking to him kind of makes Steve feel like a child, but he doesn’t complain. He nods.

 

“Good,” Hopper says, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “So just keep going about everything as normal. Last thing we need is Joyce Byers finding out.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees in a breath he had been holding. He attempts a smile, but his mouth wobbles. “Uh, do you happen to have a cigarette?”

 

Hopper snorts and gives him a strange look but doesn’t question him, which Steve is thankful for. He reaches into the pocket of his robe and produces a pack, offering it to Steve, and then leans forward to snatch a book of matches from the coffee table.

 

“Thank you,” he says, as he seems to be eternally grateful for everything the man does. He lights a cigarette and takes a long, burning drag. It fills his lungs and it hurts deliciously. At the taste of smoke, he’s reminded of Billy. “By the way, Hop, we have backup now.”

 

Hopper quirks a brow. “You know you can’t tell anyone about all this, Steve.” Steve ignores his warning tone and takes another drag.  _ “Steve.  _ Who did you tell?”

 

“Max’s brother. Billy.” He chugs the rest of his coffee and avoids Hopper’s steely gaze. “Billy Hargrove.”

 

Hopper runs a hand over his face. “Jesus, Steve. The psychopath that broke your face?”

 

“He’s not a-”

 

“Yeah, I don’t care what he is, because either way, he’s not someone we can trust!” He doesn’t yell but his tone is firm and unwavering. Steve hears him take a breath and he decides to look at him. His eyes are closed. “You know this, Steve.”

 

“Yeah, I  _ do _ know, Hop,” he confirms, persistent. “But we can trust him, believe me,” he’s pleading with Hopper now, who’s standing up. “Eleven trusts him!” He explains and watches Hopper’s stiff exterior soften.  _ Bingo. _ “I trust him, too. If that means anything to you.” He wasn’t planning on saying that last part, but the words formed in his mouth before he could think twice.

 

Hopper is standing against the doorframe to the bathroom now, fixing Steve with a quizzical look. His expression dissolves, however, and then he’s pinching the bridge of his nose and nodding, slowly. He doesn’t say anything, though, he just turns into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

 

Steve doesn’t know what to make of his reaction, so he remains seated and finishes his cigarette. Minutes later, Hopper reemerges, decked out in his uniform as he straps his belt on. “Alright,” he announces, and from his voice alone Steve knows he’s giving in.  _ “Billy.” _ He says nothing else as he walks toward the door and Steve shuts the TV off, gets up off the couch.

 

Hopper grabs his hat from a nail on the wall and fixes it over his now neat hair. “He must be alright if Eleven likes him,” he says contemplatively, mostly to himself. He smiles and it warms Steve’s heart to see. But then he’s poking Steve’s chest with a warning finger and glaring at him. “But I have to meet him. Are we clear?”

 

Steve’s eyes are wide and he nods vigorously.

 

“Good,” Hopper says with a single affirmative nod. He looks a bit like he doesn’t know what to do now that business is settled, but then his head perks up. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you watch El tonight? I have plans.”

 

“Definitely,” Steve agrees, probably too eagerly. “What time?”

 

“Seven,” Hopper answers, keys jangling as he grabs them from the kitchen table. “And I think the kids were talking about staying here another night.”

 

Steve grins and opens the door, letting them both outside. “So you’re saying I’ll be watching all of them tonight?” Hopper grins and then locks the door. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans tonight?”

 

“Date,” he answers, all nonchalant like it’s not a big deal. It  _ totally  _ is.

 

“With  _ who?!”  _ Steve demands, smiling wildly.

 

Hopper pretends to be distracted by a particularly loud bird, chirps carrying throughout the woods. Leaves crunch under their shoes and at Hopper’s lack of response, Steve punches him in the arm. “Ow,” Hopper chuckles and rubs his arm. “What’s the matter with you?” His voice is smug.

 

“Oh, fuck you, Hop! If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Eleven.”

 

“Alright, that’s unfair,” Hopper laughs. But he rolls his eyes and says, just barely audible, “With Joyce.”

 

Steve freezes. “Oh my God, this is wonderful. Now I  _ have  _ to tell Eleven.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Lucas owes me five bucks.”

 

“Watch it, Harrington,” Hopper says as a passive warning. They’re at their cars now, and Hopper’s stepping into his. He’s about to say something, but his radio is going off so he answers. Steve doesn’t listen in, but when it’s over, Hopper groans. “Ah, shit…” Hopper leans over and grabs something off the passenger seat. He turns and hands a pile of story books to Steve. “Could you return these to the library? I have to get to the station, it’s an emergency, apparently.”

 

“Of course,” Steve agrees happily.

 

“Great,” Hopper grins and shuts the door, starting the car. He rolls the window down. “And, if you don’t mind, could you pick her out a new book? She hasn’t liked any of my recent picks.”

 

Steve laughs and says, “Yes, Hopper, now  _ go.” _

 

Hopper smiles and declares before heading off, “You’re the best, Steve!” He seems as if he’s finally leaving, but then he adds at the last second, “Bring that Hargrove kid along tonight. Since you trust him so much.” It’s said without malice, and Hopper’s smirking before he departs at last.

 

Steve’s feet are heavy as he stands frozen, left in the dust Hopper’s car kicks up.

 

-

 

Because he couldn’t help it, Steve checked on the kids at the arcade before heading to the library. Also, he was kind of trying to put off going to the library.

 

But now he’s ascending the steps to the intimidating building, and when he enters, he can’t help but feel like everyone’s staring at him - all four of the people that occupy the space, including the librarian. He worries, briefly, that everyone can tell he’s never set foot in this place before, but he puts that aside and heads to the back, hoping to find something on his own.

 

He’s skimming the titles of the books in the fantasy section, all of them blurring together, when he glances upward and sees who but Billy fucking Hargrove across the way. He’s sitting at a table by himself, hunched over and scribbling into what Steve believes to be a journal. His face goes soft at the sight of Billy and he’s walking over to him without a second thought, Hopper’s pile of books still tucked in his arm.

 

_ “Psst!”  _ He whispers as quietly as he can, not wanting to scare him, but it still seems to echo in the deadly quiet of the library. Billy turns quickly toward him, and for a minute Steve’s struck by the open look in his face. He’s wearing jean shorts, frayed a little at the bottom, a faded red tank top clinging to his chest. He has on Chuck Taylors and there’s a shiny gold ring in his earlobe, which has Steve absentmindedly drawing circles on his palm with his forefinger. His curly hair is tucked behind his ears.

 

Billy smiles brightly at him, poking his tongue out. “Hi.”

 

It’s literally one syllable but it still has Steve lost for a second. He digs his nail into his palm and says, “What are you up to?”

 

Billy gestures at the journal he’d been writing in and tucks his pen behind his ear. The light from the window behind him makes his eyes look electric. “Not much. I’m more interested in what  _ you’re  _ up to…”

 

He doesn’t miss Billy’s teasing tone. “Oh, please, I’m always here.”

 

Billy lets out a bark of laughter and the librarian shushes him. He ignores her entirely. “Yeah? How come I never see you here, then?” He stands and, though Billy’s slightly shorter than him, Steve still feels like he looms over him. Something about his presence, Steve thinks; his personality or aura or some shit. He doesn’t hate it, though.

 

“You’re always too absorbed in your-” he flicks his hand at the worn leather journal in Billy’s grasp, “-shitty poetry, you just never lift your head, I guess.”

 

Billy chuckles and then nibbles just the edge of his bottom lip, and Steve’s eyes fall to his right knee, anything that isn’t his mouth.

 

Billy takes the books from Steve and inspects them with a raised brow. “What are you doin’ with these, Harrington?”

 

“They’re Eleven’s. Hopper asked me to return them and get her a new one.”

 

“That’s the chief, right? Her dad?” Billy looks up at him.

 

Steve nods and smiles and, though he knows it’s ridiculous, he’s happy Billy seems to have retained all the details of the story.

 

“And she needs a new one?”

 

Steve nods again, realizes he’s been nodding like a bobblehead and clears his throat. “Yeah. But, I honestly have no fucking clue what to get.”

 

“Of course you don’t,” Billy says with a shrug. “You never fucking did the assigned reading for English, why did the chief trust  _ you  _ with this?” He says it with a tilted head and a devilish smirk, and Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Come with me, pretty boy.”

 

Steve follows him like a puppy into the children’s section. “How would you know whether I read or not?” He challenges, watching Billy search for something Steve can’t find. “Stalker.”

 

Billy shoots him a look, brows raised. “Kinda hard to ignore your big head when it was right in front of my fucking face.” Billy takes the pen from behind his ear and uses the tip to curl a piece of Steve’s hair. “The fuck did you do to your hair?” He tucks the piece back in, then tucks his pen behind Steve’s ear. He shoves the books toward him.

 

“I didn’t have time to do it this morning,” Steve mumbles, and then runs a hand through it self consciously. It’s still damp at the nape of his neck.

 

“What a sad story.”

 

“Yeah, and what’s your excuse for that atrocity?” Steve teases, resisting the urge to reach out and feel his curly hair. He imagines it must be soft.

 

Billy dissolves into the craziest giggle Steve’s ever heard, and it has his ears perking up. “Genetics, I guess,” Billy replies and then they’re both giggling like idiots. The librarian shushes them and Billy glares at her until she turns back around.

 

Billy takes a title from the shelf and inspects it. Steve asks, “How often do you come here?”

 

“Whenever I can.” He puts the book back.

 

The question Steve  _ wants  _ to ask is, “What do you write about?” But what he actually says to Billy is, “I didn’t know you liked to read.”

 

He’s not looking at Billy but he sees out of the corner of his eye when he looks at him. “Well, I do. Now you know.”

 

“What do you like to read, then?” Steve doesn’t know where he’s planning on getting with these questions, considering Billy’s remarkably short responses. Maybe he just wants to know, and that explanation is enough for Steve.

 

Billy seems to actually think about his answer, as he hums in consideration. “I like Jack Kerouac and I like any poetry I can get my hands on.” He seems to be embarrassed, for some reason beyond Steve’s understanding, then he turns and smiles, snakelike. “I mostly read horror, though.” He cackles at Steve’s horrified expression.

 

“I’m not shocked,” Steve admits, tapping his foot. “The poetry though? That one’s a little harder to get.”

 

Billy’s dark brows draw together, and he crosses his arms. “Why’s that?” He challenges, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

 

Steve swallows, because although he knows Billy’s just messing around, some other unidentifiable force is tripping him up. “I don’t know, man, I just can’t picture you sitting and reading a poem.” It’s true, at least, it  _ was  _ true. Now that he knows Billy a bit more, and he’s discovering all these qualities he secretly has, he can easily imagine him cuddling up to a book of poetry before bed, where no one can see him. He doesn’t know why that image painted in his brain is making his chest feel tight.

 

Billy’s quiet, smiling as he says, “Well, I couldn’t picture you hunting monsters, but…”

 

Steve’s face splits in a wide grin, and he’s staring at the sunlight caught at the ends of Billy’s impossibly long eyelashes. He lets himself stare, and he ignores Billy’s questioning gaze. He tears his eyes away, eventually, and turns his face so Billy can’t see him go red.

 

After a few moments, Billy snatches a book from the shelf and grins. “Here ya go,” he says and offers the book to Steve, who takes it. But Billy’s grip tightens, and Steve’s forced to meet his eye, silently questioning him. Billy’s looking  _ right  _ at him, into him, it seems, and Steve squirms but doesn’t look away. “Your hair looks nice, Steve.” He’s still gripping the book.

 

“Oh,” is Steve’s carefully planned response, then, “thanks, uh, thank you.” His voice is uneven and his neck burns. Billy just smiles and lets him have the book.

 

_ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe  _ is the book Billy’s chosen, and he seems mighty confident in his decision. “She’ll like that one, believe me.”

 

Steve is clueless when it comes to books, but he trusts Billy’s judgment. “Thanks.”

 

Billy returns the books for him and then Steve borrows the novel at the visibly irritated librarian’s desk. He frowns when she glares up at him over the rims of her glasses, but then Billy is next to him, clearing his throat and she schools her features. Billy takes the book from her with a saccharine, fake smile, and then Steve follows him outside.

 

On the steps of the library, squinting underneath the beating sun, Billy flips the novel open and skims over the table of contents. “I can’t tell whether or not Max has accepted me into your little…” His passive voice trails off, hand grasping at air for the word.

 

“Party,” Steve finishes for him. “And she has. She’s happy you’re going to be a part of it.”

 

Billy snaps the book shut and looks up at him, eyes nearly closed in the harsh sunlight. “Yeah? And what about the other freaks?”

 

Steve shrugs, thinking back to the night before and how the whole subject of Billy seemed to set some of them off. He tilts his head, “They…”

 

“That bad, huh?” Billy snorts and descends the steps.

 

“No,” Steve is quick to assure, following him and once again finding that mole on his shoulder. He becomes fixated on it. “No, they accepted it. You, I mean.”

 

“Did you threaten their lives?” Billy asks, like the little shit he must know he is. He bounces on the sidewalk when Steve laughs and, without thinking, they’re walking side by side down the street, God knows where to. “What about Henderson?”

 

Steve sighs. “He still needs to warm up to the idea,” he admits, and Billy chuckles under his breath. Steve recalls his earlier conversation with Hopper and then all these sirens are going off in his head when he opens his big stupid mouth and says, “Which, I mean, you can… meet them all, formally. Tonight. If you want.” He takes a shaky breath and doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling so keyed up. “Hopper asked me to bring you around tonight, to his cabin. I have to watch Eleven while he’s out. He wants to meet you.”

 

Billy looks baffled when Steve dares to look at him, his wild curls and shiny earring glowing in the sun. But he nods his understanding and a smile flashes across his face, a kind Steve has never seen on him before. It’s gone before he can decode it. “Alright, yeah. Sure thing.”

 

Steve takes a minute to observe his surroundings, and he realizes they’re on Billy’s street, coming up on his house. “I’ll take that,” he mumbles and slips the book from Billy’s grasp. Billy catches his wrist and tugs gently.

 

“Come inside, Harrington. You’re not busy, right?” Billy’s eyes are analytical and Steve wishes he would fall right through the pavement.

 

“No, um, but you don’t have-”

 

“Stop being a pussy, Steve,” Billy smirks at him and looks all satisfied when Steve follows him into the house.

 

It dawns on him that it’s his first time in Billy’s house. Despite all the time he’s spent around Max, he’s never actually passed the threshold of their home, until now.

 

It’s tiny as the outside promised it would be, and Steve feels strangely comforted by that fact. “I hate big houses,” he mumbles unthinkingly, wandering into the kitchen.

 

“Uh, thanks?” Billy chuckles. “I’m not sure that was a compliment.”

 

“It was,” Steve confirms, and he thinks about his empty, cold house, the blood spilt in his pool. The atrocities that have taken place there. He shivers at the thought.

 

“You alright?” Billy asks, his tone even and Steve can tell he’s being genuine. “Your eyes are all…” Billy widens his eyes comically, imitating Steve.

 

Steve lets the smell of the house bring him back to the present, the warm, sweet scent like honey. Like Billy. Billy placing his hand cautiously over Steve’s shoulder and shaking him gently. Billy’s steady, rough voice grounding him.

 

“Sorry,” Steve blinks rapidly and forces himself to laugh at it, play it off, but it sounds like he’s just struggling to breathe. “I-I. Sorry,” he clears his throat.

 

Billy’s face is open like a book as he inspects Steve, worried, patting him once before dropping his hand and tucking it into his back pocket. “For what?”

 

Steve doesn’t have an answer and he guesses Billy’s not searching for one, anyway. He does, however, have a question. “Did you ask Max about the picture you found? Of the Mind Flayer?”

 

“Yeah,” Billy answers, disappearing down a hallway and soon returning with the photograph in question. He hands it to Steve who unfolds it and only needs to give it a glance to confirm its contents. “She said she had it so she’d know what to expect, if it came back or something.”

 

“And what did you tell her?”

 

His lips quirk into a frown. “Told her she didn’t have to worry about it.”

 

Steve purses his lips and nods. His chest feels funny, like his heart is doing somersaults. Then, because he’s afraid to look back at Billy right now for fear of falling apart, he tears the photograph in half. Words bubble up from his throat and he vomits them out, “I found dead animals this morning, in my yard. If you saw them you’d know.”

 

He doesn’t want to get into details, and Billy, bless him, seems to get what he’s saying as he takes the shreds from Steve and throws them away. When he turns back, he sees Steve begin to tremble, eyes losing their luster. “Steve, don’t.”

 

“What?” He’s barely audible, even to himself his voice sounds muffled and distant and, oh God, the mere drawing of the Mind Flayer has him spiraling.

 

“You think about those things and you lose it, you just, fuck, you  _ disappear.”  _ He’s trying to remain composed, but his voice is dripping in concern.

 

“I know, I try not to,” Steve closes his eyes and tries to breathe. He is  _ not  _ going to have a panic attack in front of Billy Hargrove. “But I can’t always help it.” His voice is thin, breaths shallow.

 

He’s closing his eyes but he can feel Billy’s watching him, burning holes right through him. He opens his eyes slowly and, when he does chance a look at Billy, he sees that the other boy’s face is twisted in puzzlement to the point of being almost humorous.

 

Billy takes him by the elbow and leads him to the couch. “Sit down.” Steve doesn’t resist as Billy presses down on his shoulders, then takes a seat next to him. “Jesus, Harrington, you get any sleep last night?”

 

He wants to chuckle for Billy’s sake, because he can hear it in his unsure voice, how he’s probably rarely comforted anyone in his life. Probably hasn’t received comfort, either, if the way his voice shakes means anything. But he can’t because he’s dizzy and sinking back into the worn soft couch, and the idea of  _ last night _ has his wet dream playing in his head again, which makes him burn with mortification. “No,” he chokes out, even though he did. “Or the night before. Or the night before that.”

 

Billy’s quiet for a second and Steve can hear a fan whirring in the kitchen. “Well,” he starts, and Steve peeks over at him. His vision is blurred at the edges, so he covers his eyes and closes them right when Billy looks back. “Maybe you should, I don’t know. Nap?”

 

Steve’s already becoming a part of the couch itself, and he can’t do more than grunt in response, eyes like weights in their sockets. His head hurts, it’s spinning with the horrific images of rotting corpses and monsters with their fangs dripping red, and equally horrific though considerably more pleasant visions of Billy, above him, on top of him, whatever. He’s just exhausted by recent developments and wouldn’t dare deny the offer to sleep, knowing someone else will watch over him and keep him safe. Knowing Billy will be here.

 

Billy, their protector.

 

He thinks he hears Billy ask a question but he can’t physically bring himself to form words. Then the weight next to him is lifting and gone, he wants to croak out, “Stay,” but he’s already falling into a much needed sleep.

 

-

 

His throat is dry like the desert and his vision is clouded when he wakes up, and he immediately takes note of the body sitting near his feet on the couch, then wonders how his feet got there.

 

Steve inhales sharply then swallows, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

 

He sits up and sees Billy there at the other end, feet crossed at the ankle atop the coffee table, elbow on the armrest. A cigarette hangs from his fingers and he’s smiling at Steve like he has a secret. Steve thinks he looks too good in the warm, almost orange sunlight coming in from the open windows, and then he stops himself from thinking any more.

 

“What time is it?” He asks weakly, voice gruff.

 

Billy blinks slowly. “Past six,” a trail of smoke leaves his mouth, which Steve watches attentively. “Your legs twitch while you sleep, you know that?”

 

But Steve doesn’t answer him, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes furiously with the heels of his hands. He can’t believe he slept the entire day away. “We have to go soon,” he reaches without thinking, across Billy’s lap to grab the wrist of his hand holding the cigarette. He checks his watch and sees that it’s almost six thirty, so he shoots up from the couch, and then he’s a little embarrassed that he did.

 

“Uh,” he breathes, rubbing the back of his neck as Billy takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Hopper said seven o’clock.”

 

Billy’s eyebrows raise slightly and he blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. He tucks his hair behind his ear, the one with the earring, and says, “Alright. What’s the rush?”

 

Steve narrows his eyes and studies Billy, who ashes his cigarette and scratches his cupid’s bow with his thumbnail. He won’t look at Steve while he analyzes him, which is very odd for Billy considering how much he seems to enjoy getting Steve to flush red under his own gaze. He’s about to ask him why he’s acting so weird, and then it dawns on him. “Oh my god,” he says under his breath, tired smile cracking his face open. “You’re not…  _ nervous,  _ are you?”

 

This makes Billy turn sharply to look up at him with the most hateful gaze Steve has ever witnessed from anyone. Steve only smiles wider when Billy hisses, “Why the fuck would I be nervous?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder, but he figures Billy’s sudden irritation must be indicative of his assumption being true. “No reason, it’s nothing. Nothing,” he mumbles, smiling secretly as he moves toward the door. “C’mon, then,  _ pretty boy.” _

 

Steve notices, in a flurry of baffling emotions, how Billy’s eyes widen, how the bright blue of his irises slim just a bit. Yeah, he can get lost in that electric blue. He gets it now, why he was so afraid of meeting Billy’s eye; ‘cause he’d never be able to look away.

 

He doesn’t want to, but he rips his eyes from Billy’s and opens the front door.

 

With a huff, Billy stands and puts his cigarette out on a yellow ashtray sitting on the coffee table. He snatches his keys up and his face is the perfect picture of displeasure as he reaches between the couch cushions and produces the book Steve had forgotten about entirely. He waves it in the air, muttering something about “Harrington” and “scatterbrain” and then they leave.

 

After giving directions to the secret cabin, Steve has his window down, listening to whatever heavy metal album Billy has on cassette (he actually doesn’t hate it) and his eyes are closed, pointlessly chasing the remnants of pure rest he’d had on Billy’s couch. His back hurts a little but it was a fair trade.

 

The volume lowers and Steve peeks an eye open to see trees blurring by, and then he turns to Billy, who’s chewing his lip raw. “Something wrong?”

 

“What if Hopper doesn’t like me?” His tentative question comes out slower than Dustin running from a pack of demo-dogs, and Steve feels… warm, but also frozen.

 

“He will like you,” he insists, though he actually has no idea whether that’s true or not. He just can’t imagine someone  _ not _ liking Billy, which is really an incredible transition from how he’d felt just months before.

 

“How d’you know that?” Billy asks and glances at him, smiling but Steve can see how nervous he really is. “Hm?”

 

“Because…” Steve starts, shaking his head so a thought-out reason will dislodge from the far reaches of his brain. Nothing presents itself, so he says the first thing he can think of, “Because I like you?”

 

He didn’t mean to sound like he’s unsure about his feelings on Billy, but the other boy doesn’t press him on that. “Yeah, no offense, but that’s not reassuring.”

 

Steve feigns shock to make Billy laugh. He’s successful and he feels his chest open and flip when he hears the low, alluring sound. “What the hell do you mean?!”

 

He watches Billy’s tongue run along his teeth. “You don’t have great taste in people, generally speaking. I think you’re the  _ only _ person who likes me.”

 

The honesty hits Steve and he’s more than a little taken aback by it. He doesn’t know exactly how he should respond, but he does his best. He says what he feels and hopes it’s enough, because it never was in the past. “W-well that’s not true, obviously. Max likes you, and El’s the one who wanted you in the Party in the first place!” Billy doesn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “So, at least  _ three  _ people like you.” That gets a weak chuckle out of Billy, and Steve grins. “Don’t know if there’s anything unlikable about you.”

 

_ ‘God  _ fuck, _ why did I say that?!’ _

 

“Oh.” Billy’s jaw is clenched and he’s staring ahead. Steve lets his gaze slip lower to see his thighs tense and then relax where they rest on the seat, frayed edges of his shorts faded and rough. He looks away quickly, face on fire.

 

Steve tells Billy where to park and then they walk through the woods, with Steve guiding Billy past traps Hopper has set out, should the Bad Men ever come back. Before they’re even at the door, Steve can clearly hear Lucas and Dustin yapping, presumably arguing over something insignificant as that is the basis of all of their arguments. He’s feeling happy now, excited even, but it’s crystal clear to Steve that Billy’s anxious. He didn’t think that was possible.

 

Billy’s hands are in his pockets and he’s rocking a little, back and forth on his feet. He’s staring at the door with this look on his face that Steve has never seen on him. They’re standing close enough, so he leans into Billy, nudging him with his shoulder. Billy looks at him, and when Steve offers him what he hopes is a reassuring grin, he smiles shakily.

 

Steve knocks but the door’s unlocking and swinging open before he’s finished. His hand hovers in the space in front of him, and all the kids are sitting on and near the couch, looking like a pack of wild animals as they stare over with wide eyes at the teenagers.

 

“Steve!” They yell excitedly, rushing over and tugging him inside.

 

“Billy!” Eleven beams, striding confidently toward him. Steve watches with great amusement as he stares down at her, as if he’s afraid she might bite or something. She takes him by the hand, gently, and guides him into the cabin. The door shuts and locks without anyone touching it, which makes Billy whip his head around. He looks up at Steve with unsure eyes, and Steve just shrugs in response.

 

There are blankets and pillows strewn about in front of the TV and Dustin forces him to sit on the couch as they start spinning their tale regarding their latest campaign. Will’s next to him on the couch, and Billy’s sitting on his other side, chewing his cheek (Steve knows this because he keeps stealing glances out of the corner of his eye) and probably attempting to understand what the hell they’re talking about. Steve zones out a little bit, as  _ Dungeons & Dragons  _ has never captured his attention very much outside of being interested in the kids’ stories, and he imagines what Billy’s inner monologue might be in this moment. He chuckles a little, luckily at the same time the kids burst into laughter at something Mike has said. Then, Billy breaks his silence with a question.

 

“What is Dungeons and Dragons, exactly?”

 

The kids look at him and Steve imagines hearing their collective gasp, though they’re completely silent for a moment. Then, the dam breaks and they’re all shouting over each other; Mike stands and tries to lead the explanation, but Lucas stands next to him, correcting him and Mike shoves him; Eleven is trying to explain it quietly to Billy but his focus is split between her and Will, who is surprisingly contributing to the conversation and is probably explaining it the best.

 

“Hey, hey,  _ hey!”  _ Steve shouts over the noise and they eventually all pause to listen. “One at a time, please. Jesus.”

 

Lucas and Mike sit back down and Will explains to Billy what  _ D&D _ is. “It’s a role-playing game,” he says in that soothing voice of his, which is odd for a kid his age, but it has all of them listening intently despite already knowing the game. “Basically you and your friends choose your characters and the Dungeon Master,” he gestures toward Mike, “creates a story for you. You go on adventures together and solve problems and stuff like that.”

 

“There’s also magic and treasure,” Max adds because it’s very important to her.

 

“And monsters,” El includes in an eerie voice, trying to scare Billy. Dustin snorts and shoves her, smothering her with his pillow.

 

“There are rules, though,” Lucas begins, but before he can continue, Hopper appears from the bathroom.

 

He’s wearing jeans and a button up, probably the nicest clothes he owns, and his hair is done neatly, face clean-shaven and smile warm when he sees Steve.

 

“There’s ibuprofen above the sink,” he says, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You might need it after dealing with these headaches all night.”

 

The kids groan and object, Eleven hides her face under a blanket in embarrassment.

 

“They’ll be alright,” Steve mutters and then reaches backwards, offering Hopper the book. “I got what you asked for.”

 

Hopper’s brows raise in intrigue as he takes it and skims the title. “Thanks, Steve. You think she’ll like it?”

 

“Billy picked it out,” he blurts, jamming his thumb back at Billy. “And he knows a lot about books, so.”

 

Billy stands and offers his hand to Hopper, who takes it. They shake hands, firm, Steve’s watching. “I’m Billy, Billy Hargrove. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

 

“Chief Jim Hopper,” Hopper says with a subtle narrowing of his eyes. Steve is suddenly worried because he really,  _ really  _ wants Hopper to like Billy. “Hargrove, huh? The same Hargrove who threatened to, what was it? Rip Eddy Hannigan’s teeth out, is that it?”

 

Steve thanks God above that the kids have lost interest and are instead invested in fighting over what to watch on TV. They seem to like him enough, or are at least neutral in their attitude toward him, and he doesn’t want whatever Hopper’s talking about to change their minds.

 

Billy’s face has that hard, cold look on it, like he’s either about to crumble or punch something. “Yes, sir,” he answers slowly. “That was a while ago.”

 

Hopper makes a face. “Sure, yeah. I’m sure you’ve changed since May.” Steve feels his heart actually stop beating and his eyes are probably the size of dinner plates. He glances at Billy, whose jaw is clenched and shifting as his lips part. “I’m sure that  _ now _ you respect authority and understand that there are consequences for the shit you do, right?”

 

Billy exhales sharply out of his nose and his head falls to look at his shoes for a moment. Then, he looks straight at Hopper and says, “Yes, sir. I do.” He shares a glance with Steve.

 

Hopper studies Billy for another moment or so, and then he’s grinning like a madman. “Relax,” he says, taking Billy by the shoulder and squeezing. “I’m only kidding. That Eddy asshole deserved it.”

 

Steve has no idea what happened between Eddy and Billy (he thought Eddy was nice), but the relief that suddenly has his heart beating again is indescribable. Billy’s mouth twitches but he doesn’t smile, no doubt still a little intimidated.

 

“Yeah,” Billy agrees shakily, cringing and Steve is curious as to why. He decides to ask him about Eddy some other time.

 

“Nice to meet you, Billy,” Hopper finally concludes and then turns his attention back to Steve. “There’s money for pizza on the table, don’t give the place the address, you know the drill. There’s beer in the fridge for you two, and Eleven is  _ not  _ allowed to have Eggos.”

 

“Copy that,” Steve answers, still reeling a little bit from the interaction between Hopper and Billy, who sits back down beside him.

 

Hopper walks around the couch and approaches Eleven. He leans over and plants a kiss on her cheek, mutters something and she nods. He straightens up and heads for the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be home, call Claudia if you need something.”

 

“Will do!” Steve calls. “Have fun!” The door shuts behind him and Eleven squints over at it. The locks click.

 

The kids demand Steve orders the pizza immediately, so he does. They whisper at him when he’s on the phone, begging him to get cheesy bread and soda. He gives in, and they cheer, so Billy shushes them. They dissolve into giggles when Billy himself starts persuading Steve into ordering cheesy bread.

 

“Hopper never lets me eat at the TV,” Eleven mentions with a mischievous grin as they sit around the screen, gorging themselves on pepperoni pizza and cheesy bread.

 

“Steve’s a cool babysitter,” Max says, folding a piece of pizza and taking a huge bite.

 

“But if any of you little weirdos spill your soda, I  _ will  _ make you lick it off the floor,” Billy threatens but gives them a look, one Steve believes he’s developed specially for them. They only snort with laughter and then try to make each other spill, laughing hysterically when Lucas accidentally knocks Billy’s plastic cup over.

 

Steve watches in awe as Billy looks at his drink creeping across the floor, then at Lucas who’s trying to contain his laughter, until Billy shoves off the couch and grabs Lucas, spinning him upside down. Lucas grabs onto Billy’s arm with his feet kicking in the air, choking with laughter. Next to Steve, Will spits his drink back up, cracking up at Lucas’s situation.

 

Steve has never seen Will laugh so hard, and he’s about to ask him if he’s okay when Billy is coming up behind them saying, “You think this is funny, Byers?” His eyes are wide with glee and Will tries to resist, but Billy is reaching around his torso and lifting him, turning him upside down. Soda spurts out of Will’s nose and he cackles at Lucas, who gets sprayed and is not at all happy about it.

 

“I’m gonna pee my pants!” Dustin yells, and then actually rushes to the toilet and slams the door.

 

Billy eventually sets them down, surprisingly gently, back where they were sitting before. And then he cleans their messes.

 

When they’re done eating, Max suggests they do a short campaign so Billy can see what  _ D&D  _ is like. They do, and Steve watches from the kitchen where he’s packing away leftover pizza as Billy sits with them on the floor, asking all the right questions, laughing at all their dumb jokes and Steve notices pointless things, like how Billy took his shoes off, and how he’s spread lazily across the floor with a blanket over his head and shoulders which makes him look like a nun, according to the kids. Steve is wrapping cheesy bread in foil when he hears Billy’s deep voice, and then the kids are cracking up and Steve feels something twist in his gut but tries to ignore it.

 

Whether he’s being genuine or not doesn’t matter all that much, because the simple fact that he’s showing interest in the kids at all is enough. He’s comfortable with them, Steve notes, and he’s grinning when Billy joins him in the kitchen area. Billy’s smiling, too, and Steve hasn’t been this content in a while.

 

“Did they let you pick your character yet?” Steve asks teasingly as if they haven’t done so for him.

 

“They have not,” Billy says, stealing the piece of pizza Steve had been wrapping. He takes a monstrous bite and winks at Steve, mouth full, and Steve can only stare as his fingers twitch helplessly. “Guess you are a pretty cool babysitter, Harrington.” He rejoins the kids before Steve can say anything at all.

 

The kids freak out after they figure out that Billy has never seen  _ Star Wars  _ and then they take the appropriate next step; they pop  _ A New Hope  _ in and turn the lights off, wrapping themselves up in their blankets. There’s a soft knitted blanket draped over Billy, who’s sitting on the floor at the foot of the couch, and he’s got his arms across the cushions, one wrist resting over Steve’s bare knee. It’s a friendly gesture, but it takes Steve fifteen minutes to stop staring at Billy’s arm where it’s laying on him, warm, illuminated by the TV screen.

 

It doesn’t take long for the kids to fall asleep, one after the other. His arm is wrapped around Will’s shoulders as he lies slumped against his side, him and Max being the only ones to last the whole movie. Max is snuggled up against Billy, with Lucas’s head laying below his knee as he snores softly and Steve knows for certain that he’s an official Party member.

 

Steve is nodding off himself when an obviously drunk Hopper is stumbling inside, trying and failing to be quiet. Steve turns his head lazily, smiling at him. “How was it?” He whispers.

 

Hopper slowly raises a hand, eyes half-lidded as he smiles widely and gives him a dramatic thumbs up.

 

Somehow, Billy and Steve manage to detangle themselves from the kids without waking them. Before they leave, there’s a moment at the door. They’re standing close together, just looking at each other.

 

Billy asks, “If the beer was for us, shouldn’t we take it?” He has that devilish glint in his eyes, which Steve is finding increasingly irresistible. Then he waggles his tongue and there’s no way Steve’s saying no to him.

 

They take a few cans from Hopper’s stash and head out. Steve’s not afraid to be in the woods at night, because Billy’s with him. Everything that scares him and stresses him out or makes him panic is disappearing into the background, because Billy’s in the foreground, suggesting they get drunk and pull an all nighter, and Steve is suddenly not tired at all. He realizes something which makes him equal parts terrified and excited: he’s desperate to stay by Billy Hargrove’s side.

 

Billy, his protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first of all, this chapter is unnecessarily long, so for that I apologize. Second, hoo boy I know next to nothing about LWW, or D&D but I will do my best should either become relevant down the line (they most likely will). Third, what weapon do you guys think Billy should wield? What should his and Steve's D&D characters/classes be? Lastly, THANK YOU FOR YOUR OVERWHELMINGLY KIND COMMENTS. BLESS YOU ALL.
> 
> (p.s. you know I had to include a weird ass monster fucker wet dream like cmon I am not above that shit)


	6. Chapter 6

Billy flies through the night, windows down,  _ Filth Hounds of Hades  _ blaring. He’s full of energy as he sings along, fists punching the steering wheel. His eyes are wide and crazed in an obnoxious caricature of how he imagines other people see him, making Steve laugh so he keeps it up. Anything to hear Steve laugh, to keep his mind off all that goes bump in the night and keeps him from sleeping.

 

It’s a scary thing, really. Billy can handle Neil, he can handle fighting monsters and the chance that he’ll be found out and killed. Those things that fill his gut with such indescribable fear pale in comparison to how scared he is of his own feelings for the doe-eyed boy in his passenger seat. But the difference is vital, it’s what really drives him nuts: he  _ wants  _ it. God, he wants it. He wants to be at Steve’s side for as long as he’ll have him. He’d swallow the terror in a heartbeat for a chance.

 

Tonight - the whole day, really - has felt like a fever dream to Billy. This morning he’s caught in the library by Steve, who looked absolutely dear in his shorts with his hair all wet and undone and he’s asking him what he fucking  _ writes _ about, and then he’s napping on his couch, Billy really did try to keep his eyes off of him for fear of being a creep, but what’s a guy like him supposed to do?  _ Not  _ be head over heels? No chance.

 

And so he’s prying his roaming eyes from Steve, who’s leaning his head out the window with closed eyes, smiling softly. Billy turns the music down a notch as he pulls up at Sattler’s Quarry, a favorite spot of his. He’d discovered it one night following the events of the spring, after his public image had been thoroughly destroyed by Tommy. It’s a place no one has any interest in, which is Billy’s ideal hangout; out of the way and devoid of people.

 

He turns his key and glances at Steve, who’s silent and motionless, which leads him to realize the mistake he’s made.

 

“Jesus, fuck,” Billy mutters, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t even realize that this is where -  _ shit.” _

 

Steve turns his head slowly to face Billy, but he doesn’t look upset. He’s smiling a little, like he’s sorry for something. “It’s fine, you know. Wasn’t even Will, obviously,” Steve shrugs a shoulder and grabs the beer, opening his door. “Besides,” he adds before stepping out. “It’s in the past. C’mon, Hargrove.”

 

For the second time tonight, Billy’s entire body is flooded with an overwhelming feeling of relief. He gets out of the car and joins Steve, leaning against the hood as he opens a can of beer with a  _ crack. _

 

“So,” Billy starts after Steve hands him his own can and they each take a sip. “The Chief is a big fan of me, huh?”

 

Steve chuckles, lip brushing the edge of his can. His eyes are all soft and slanted, a stark contrast to how he usually carries himself; all wide-eyed and on edge. He’s slouching against Billy’s car, his t-shirt is sticking to him in the humid night and a breeze winds its way through strands of his hair, making them dance on his forehead.

 

“Shut up, he obviously likes you. He only fucks with people he likes.” Steve takes a big gulp of his beer.

 

“That’s why he doesn’t fuck with you?” Billy is immediately shoved off the hood of the car, cackling at Steve’s childish expression of annoyance. He rights himself atop the car again, mumbling, “Kidding, pretty boy.”

 

Steve glances at him and then looks ahead at the water, a question so clear in his eyes Billy’s sure if he looks hard enough, he’ll know what it is. Before he can guess, however, Steve is pushing up onto the hood next to him, crossing his legs, sighing. “So, what… what happened? With Eddy, I mean.” Steve asks carefully, as if he’s afraid Billy will blow up or something. ‘ _ He has good reason to,’ _ Billy thinks bitterly.

 

Billy purses his lips, shakes his head like it’s no big deal. He hopes Steve doesn’t see right through him. “He just got on my nerves a lot, y’know?” Billy hates the taste of a lie in his mouth, but continues. “Gave me shit for moving down from first-string that one time. So I told him to fuck off, ‘n he cried about it, I guess.” Billy swallows his beer like it’s water, wanting this conversation to be over, done with before it really starts.

 

Steve is biting his bottom lip, nodding. He’s not looking at Billy. “Oh.” He definitely doesn’t buy it. “Did he, um-” Steve sucks his teeth and takes a sip of his beer, clearly considering his next words. “He ever give you shit? For other reasons?” He says it in one shaky breath.

 

Billy’s heart is pounding as he utters out a curious, “What do you mean?”

 

Steve looks at Billy, and then past him. “N-nothing, never mind.” Steve waves a hand. “He was a dick to me, too, so. Just wondering.”

 

And Billy knows Steve’s lying on his behalf, which makes him feel like he’s floating, but also like he’s drowning because Steve  _ clearly _ is trying to ask him the exact question he has no intention of answering any time soon. He shakes it away, pretending it didn’t happen as he finishes his beer. He cracks open another and lights a cigarette, needing it after that near disaster.

 

“Your kids,” he starts on an exhale of smoke, easy as he releases it into the night air. “Kinda chaotic.”

 

Steve’s smile is bright and dazzling. “Yeah, but you gotta admit,” he steals Billy’s cigarette, “you love them.”

 

Billy snorts and watches Steve’s lips wrap around the cigarette. “Love is a strong word.”

 

Steve shrugs and lets the smoke out the side of his mouth. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean it’s overused, though.” He throws back the rest of his beer and grabs another as Billy watches carefully, stowing his words away. “They love you already, I can tell.” He fixes Billy with a look, so bold that Billy has to meet it with an equally loaded gaze or else he’ll burn up.

 

“How do you know?” Billy challenges, and cuts Steve off when he opens his mouth to sass him back. “Mother’s intuition?”

 

Steve’s eyes narrow and before Billy knows it, Steve shoves the cigarette into his fresh beer. The cherry hisses and dies, and Billy’s mouth gapes open. Steve is smirking, all smug and  _ shit _ he’s very kissable. Steve gets up though, strolling to the edge of the water with his hands in the pockets of those tiny shorts of his. Billy follows, sneaking behind him to dump his tainted beer onto Steve’s shoes. Steve shouts and jumps, looking incredulously between his wet shoes and Billy’s maniacal smile.

 

Steve huffs, but he can’t hide the smile sneaking onto his face. “You  _ dickhead.” _

 

“Sure,  _ I’m  _ the dickhead,” Billy laughs, enjoying Steve’s inconvenience more than he should.

 

A devious look crosses Steve’s face, and then he’s dumping the contents of his can onto Billy’s shoes in retaliation, smirking evilly. Billy is quick to bat the can from Steve’s grip, hearing it dunk into the water beside them. Steve’s face is priceless.

 

“Dickhead,” Steve whispers, laughter bubbling up from his chest when he sees the crazed glint in Billy’s eyes. Billy’s tongue pokes out to run along his teeth, and Steve’s gaze focuses on the movement. Billy’s unsure whether the flush on Steve’s face is from alcohol or something else. “Asshole.”

 

Being too caught up in cackling at Steve’s expense, Billy isn’t quick enough to block Steve when he knocks the can out of his hands. He watches it land in the rocks, laughter fading as he fixes Steve with a hard glare. It’s Steve’s turn to laugh and Billy hatches an idea.

 

He throws his arm over Steve’s broad shoulders (quite the spectacle for him when they had to shower after gym) and says, “You’re wrong Harrington.”

 

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” He looks at Billy, so close, puzzling. Suspicious.

 

“You’ll only wish I was an asshole.” Billy grins and his eyes narrow. “I’m much worse,” is his only warning before he’s dragging Steve into the nasty quarry water.

 

Steve puts up quite the fight as he tries to keep his feet planted firmly in the mud, but Billy overpowers him, leaving sneaker-shaped streaks behind them. He gets to where the water’s up to their shins and it’s  _ freezing _ . “Billy, I swear on my fucking life,” Steve warns hurriedly and takes a breath, laughing nervously on the exhale. Billy has his arms wrapped around him, vice-like, and Steve grips his hands tight, not trying to pry him off, but rather to hold onto something steady. “Don’t.”

 

Feeling slightly sadistic, Billy waits for a beat, feeling Steve tremble against him in trepidation. He lets go of Steve, who turns around and looks at him with his big brown eyes, all relieved and exhilarated. “Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”

 

“Next time,” Steve echoes lowly like he’s talking to himself. He bends at the waist and dips his fingers into the water, hissing at how cold it is. He swirls his fingers for a moment and then splashes some water on Billy.

 

Billy barely flinches and his lack of reaction inspires Steve to splash him again. Steve takes a step back, trying to put some distance between them, and laughs as Billy wipes at the droplets on his face. Steve prepares to splash him again but Billy moves quickly.

 

Steve tries to run away but the water slows him down, and he’s helpless when Billy wraps his arms around him again and lifts him. Steve cackles and kicks his legs, but it’s no use, his laughter makes him weaker. Billy tosses him into the water with little effort and minimal thrashing on Steve’s part.

 

Within the same second, it seems, that Steve goes under, he shoots right back out of the water, gasping and shivering. Billy’s close to tears with laughter, doubled over at the sight of Steve’s flattened hair and soaked clothes. With clenched fists, Steve rubs his eyes and trudges toward him on shaky legs. Still chuckling, Billy wades a bit deeper in, offering a hand to help pull him out. Steve accepts his hand, fingertips freezing as they curl around Billy’s palm.

 

Steve’s teeth are clattering together and he hugs himself, saying in a nasally voice, “I got water up my nose,” which causes Billy to laugh even harder. Steve does crack a smile at him, so Billy doesn’t feel too bad.

 

“Aw, look at poor King Steve,” Billy mocks amiably, grinning. “Trembling like a leaf. You oughta know not to ruin my beer  _ and  _ my cig.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and staggers out of the water with his arms wrapped securely around himself. “Prick,” he mumbles, but Billy hears the smile in his voice as he casts another glance over the water.

 

Billy turns around, about to make sure Steve knows it’s all for fun, but he’s met with a handful of mud in his face. Steve smears it across his cheek and takes his other handful to rub into Billy’s hair, and that’s where Billy draws the line.

 

“This is why you’re the dickhead,” Billy breathes, smiling like a madman while Steve holds a dirty hand to hide his mouth, snickering evilly.

 

“You look so ridiculous,” Steve squeaks out just before Billy’s tearing his shirt off, tossing it to dry land, and grabbing Steve, who yelps.

 

This time, Steve overpowers Billy. He pushes him backward into the water, and Billy loses his footing, tipping over with a  _ splash.  _ His body tenses right up in shock at the ice cold water, punching the breath out of him. He stands up as quick as he can, back into the warm night air, shivering and hearing Steve wade toward him. He squints through the water dripping from his hair over his eyes, and sees Steve, shirtless, a determined look in his eye. Once near, Steve makes a cup with his hand and scoops up some water, washing the mud from Billy’s eyes. Before Billy can quip, Steve’s lunging at him, hands on his shoulders as he uses all his weight to push him underwater. He succeeds, mostly, but Billy reacts swiftly by reaching up and shoving Steve’s beautiful, laughing face into the water.

 

They get carried away in their little game of seeing who can keep who underwater the longest, and at one point, Billy slips from Steve’s grasp and positions himself between his legs. When he stands, Steve’s sitting atop his shoulders and scrambling to take hold of the hands Billy’s offering.

 

“Quit giggling, Steve, you’re gonna make us fall over!” Billy scolds, laughing himself. Might as well enjoy being between Steve’s legs, ‘cause it will be the only time he’s ever there.

 

Steve calms down eventually, and Billy hears him sigh. “Everything alright up there?”

 

“Yeah…” Steve says slowly, panting a little. He brings Billy’s hands to rest on his thighs and then places his own over them. Billy feels them tremble a bit under his touch, whether because of the cold water or the contact, he has no idea. “Just… the stars look really pretty.”

 

Billy of course can’t turn his head upward to look, so he lowers himself into the water, allowing Steve to slips from his shoulders without injury. He rises and looks toward the sky, a vast and inky canvas with flecks of bright stars throughout, burning in the warm night. He smiles at the sight, and they watch as a shooting star goes streaking by like a cosmic firework. Steve gasps and says with childlike glee, “Quick!” He shuts his eyes and, presumably, makes a wish. When he opens them, Billy’s grinning at him in such a way that could expose his entire soul.

 

“Did you make a wish?” Steve inquires with raised brows, smiling softly. They’re standing awfully close.

 

“Obviously,” Billy insists with a scoff, because he did. He made a wish, impossible to grant.

 

Steve nods in approval and after one last longing gaze at the sky, they make their way back to dry land.

 

Steve’s trying to hide how cold he is, Billy can tell, so he picks his shirt up off the ground, dusts it off, and hands it to Steve. Steve takes it with an appreciative, sheepish grin and pulls it over his head. The sight of him in soaked shorts, clinging to his legs, with Billy’s shirt on which is just short enough so that every now and then the material pulls up above his belly button, is something to behold.

 

With dripping hair, they hop inside the Camaro. Heat blasting, a Scorpions album playing in the background, Steve says quietly, “They do love you, though. Probably more than me,” he chuckles and props his feet up on the dashboard after toeing his shoes off.

 

“Hm?” Billy hums around a cigarette, totally lost. He offers one to Steve, who accepts it wordlessly.

 

“The kids,” he clarifies and weaves the unlit cigarette between fidgeting fingers. He keeps glancing over at Billy, eyes surveying his bare chest quickly. “They loved having you around, I can tell.” He rolls his head over lazily and smiles at Billy.

 

Billy’s unsure of what to say. Should he joke, should he change the subject? He doesn’t know what Steve’s expecting him to say. He lights his cigarette and decides on, “I can’t imagine why.” The lighter dies.

 

Steve’s smile fades as quickly as the flame of his lighter and he frowns at Billy. “What?” He asks and can’t hide the hurt in his voice, as if Billy insulting himself was a personal attack on Steve.

 

Billy just shrugs and shakes his head, because this feels strangely intimate and he’s not so sure he can handle it, not with Steve. He tries to ignite his lighter a few more times to no avail, and tosses it onto the dashboard in frustration. He runs a hand through his wet hair and takes a long, burning drag.

 

Steve’s turned around in his seat, looking at him with a tilted head. “I know why,” he stammers a little but his tone is sure. “‘Cause, you know, when you hated me-”

 

“Never hated you,” Billy corrects.

 

Steve’s eyes widen for a second but he rights his features. “Oh. Well, when you… you know.” The allusion to November still makes Billy’s heart sting. “I thought that you were just an asshole, for real, and I was pretty okay with the idea of never seeing you again after that. But then I just, I dunno. Hating you - and I’ll admit, I did hate you - just got too exhausting. So.” Steve concludes on a rather ambiguous note, but seems satisfied with what he’s said.

 

“So what are you saying, Steve?” Billy asks carefully, not angry, not even hurt. Just confused.

 

“I-I’m saying that you’re not as bad as I thought you were. That came out wrong,” Steve rolls his eyes at himself and places the unlit cigarette between his muttering lips. “You’re cool, is what I’m trying to say. And, yeah, we just… love hanging out with you.” Steve must find the steering wheel pretty interesting, as he’s staring at it in a refusal to meet Billy’s gaze.

 

In his half-muttered, half-shouted words, in his awkward pauses and overwhelmed voice, Steve’s compliment is the best one Billy’s ever gotten. He lets himself smile wide, licking his lips and mumbling, “Yeah, ‘we.’”

 

Steve punches him in the shoulder. “Fine,  _ I.  _ Happy?”

 

“Always,” he confirms, grinning smugly until Steve takes him by his jaw, wrenches his face closer to his own, and leans in. Lighting his cigarette with Billy’s own, sucking until he can get a good drag. Billy sees with wide eyes the glowing reflection in Steve’s own, and then he’s pulling away, sitting back and blowing smoke upward.

 

Billy swallows and his throat is dry, his heart is pounding in his ears. He reminds himself to act like he’s not feeling  _ everything he’s feeling. _ So he slumps against the seat like nothing unusual happened, but he can’t suppress his wicked grin. He turns toward the window to hide it.

 

Steve clears his throat. “I wished for my nightmares to stop. What’d you wish for?”

 

Billy’s smile falters a bit and for one insane second, he imagines telling the truth. But being honest and coming out happy on the other side is not a possibility. Steve speaks before he can think of a bullshit answer.

 

“Same thing you write about?”

 

Externally, Billy chuckles. Internally, sirens are blaring because Steve is somehow exactly correct. “Jesus, you’re nosey.”

 

“Just curious,” Steve defends with a shrug.

 

“I can’t tell you what I wished for, or else it won’t come true. Don’t you know the rules, Harrington?”

 

_ “Yes,”  _ Steve insists exasperatedly. “Well, if your wish comes true, will you tell me?”

 

Billy can’t help but laugh at that. “Believe me, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

“Promise?” Steve demands and Billy’s hands tremble. “As your friend, I have to have this information.”

 

Billy’s so hung up on Steve saying they’re friends that he barely hears himself say, “Promise.”

 

Steve nods once, pleased, and reclines his seat. They sit in silence for a while, smoking, listening to music.

 

“What’s California like?” Steve’s eyes are lidded, cigarette long gone.

 

“Warm.”

 

“You ever miss it?”

 

Billy shrugs. “Every now and then.” He glances over at Steve and sees that his eyes are shut. “Not so bad here.”

 

Steve makes a noise low in his throat. “Let’s go to California, Billy.”

 

“Now?”

 

Steve hums. “No. I gotta work tomorrow. Maybe another time.”

 

Billy chuckles at him. “You’re a weirdo, Steve Harrington.”

 

Steve peeks an eye open and grins. “And what about it?”

 

Billy makes a nonchalant face. “Lucky for you, I happen to like weirdos.”

 

“Now you’re starting to sound like a real Party member.”

 

They erupt into giggles and Billy feels a little bit like he’s high, like he’s floating. That is, until Steve is whispering his name harshly.

 

“Look, but don’t move,” he whispers at Billy, frozen in wide-eyed terror.

 

So Billy looks, and sees a dark figure crouching near the quarry water, moonlight reflecting off its moist body. It rises to its full height and he sees that it has abnormally long arms, and its face opens like a wicked flower to reveal infinite rows of sharp teeth, dripping with saliva. Fear grips him, takes hold of his gut, but something else awakens inside him as well. He can’t name it.

 

“Is that…”

 

“Yes. Drive away now.” Steve’s voice is strained and he’s breathing harshly through his nose.

 

Billy nods and rips out of there, catching sight of the monster before they’re gone. It’s unsettlingly humanoid, towering on two feet instead of four.

 

Once they’re safely on the road, Billy checks on Steve, who’s alarmingly quiet. He sees Steve’s chest begin to heave, and then he’s all out hyperventilating in the seat next to him. Billy slows down to pull over, hoping to calm him down, but Steve snaps through shuddering breaths, “Don’t you dare stop driving.”

 

Billy does as he’s told and they make it to his house without incident. Mostly. Billy gets out of the car and moves quickly to the passenger side, helping Steve out. He’s breathing so shallowly Billy’s afraid he’ll pass out.

 

“Hey, c’mon, Steve,” he encourages and lets Steve lean on him as they walk to the door, grateful to his past self for leaving it unlocked.

 

Steve is trying to say something after Billy shuts the door, hands moving in the air like they’re separate from the rest of his body, making jerky movements.

 

Billy takes him by the shoulders and Steve gasps out in a rush, “Nowhere. Nowhere’s safe, they’re everywhere.  _ Fucking hell,  _ we didn’t even notice it. Coulda hurt you, oh my god, I have to call Hopper,” and he makes a move toward the phone.

 

Billy holds him in place. “No, no, no,” he says slowly, and looks at Steve until his gaze is met. “What you have to do is breathe. Alright?”

 

“Bill-”

 

“No, you’re putting yourself first right now. Clear?”

 

Steve’s eyes are wide, not in panic anymore, but in shock. He nods his assent. Billy releases him and breathes deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, waits for Steve to mimic him and he does, but his breath is still shallow and shuddering.

 

Billy keeps breathing deeply, feeling calmer himself, until he can hear the steady flow of air into Steve’s nose and out of his mouth, his eyes shut as he comes back to himself.

 

Steve opens his eyes and they focus squarely on Billy. “We have to call Hop.”

 

Billy shakes his head firmly. “No, Steve.”

 

“We have to do something, Billy! We can’t just stand around doing nothing about it!” Steve’s raised his voice and his hands are planted on his hips.

 

“We’re going to do exactly that, at least for now,” Billy insists with crossed arms, as unshakeable as Steve. “What can we do, what can  _ Hopper  _ do about it now? Stumble into the woods, drunk as shit, and get himself killed? Leave the kids all by themselves in the cabin?”

 

At that, the crease between Steve’s brows softens and his face transforms into an expression of acquiescence.

 

Billy takes a brave step toward him. “We’re going to bed,” he continues with a finger to Steve’s chest, still covered by his own shirt. “And tomorrow, we’re killing that fucker. Good?” Billy feels a thrill shoot down his spine, his stomach aflame with excitement. The promise of inflicting pain on an evil thing, on something that’s traumatized Steve and all the kids Steve cares about, makes him feel crazed and drunk.

 

To his amazement, a grin as mischievous and insane as he feels spreads across Steve’s face. “Good. Great. Yes.” His eyes are like glowing embers and Billy feels a million things at once.

 

“Good,” Billy repeats and stalks toward the couch. He gestures at it, saying, “You can sleep here tonight.”

 

Steve nods and offers a tiny smile, already situating himself on the cushions. “All things considered, I had a good night.” After a beat, he adds, “Thank you.”

 

Billy knows he’d do anything for Steve, more than just remind him to breathe. “No problem. I had a good night, too.” His voice is tight, holding back words he wants to utter. He lingers for a moment, then he goes to his room, calling over his shoulder, “Night, Harrington.”

 

He stays awake all night, lying still on his bed to hear any noise of pain or discomfort Steve may make. All he hears, though, is crickets and the muffled sound of Steve snoring on the couch.

 

It comforts him, but he can’t stop picturing a Demogorgon sneaking in silently and taking Steve away from him.

 

-

 

Sleep never comes, but morning does. Billy’s relieved when the pale light of dawn shines through his window, and he realizes with some dismay that he’d been holding his breath, waiting anxiously for the night to be over.

 

He sits up and heaves a sigh; his shorts smell, the denim plastered to him in awkward, rough patches. His hair feels gross, too, but he decides that’s of lesser concern than everything else that’s recently occurred. He gets up and strips, pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt then heads into the living room.

 

Peering over the couch, he sees Steve is sleeping peacefully, one hand tucked under his head and the other thrown above it. Billy chuckles, decides not to be a creep right now and pads into the kitchen to make breakfast. He puts on a pot of coffee and searches for some eggs, but the refrigerator is essentially barren. Add picking up groceries to his to-do list, right under killing an interdimensional monster and resisting the urge to kiss your friend on the mouth.

 

_ Friend.  _ He’s friends with Steve Harrington. None of any of it feels real, but Billy is happy to pretend he’s never gonna wake up.

 

The best he can do is toast and some Eggo waffles, the kind with the chocolate chips, and he hopes Steve doesn’t have high standards regarding breakfast. He turns the radio on, volume low, and a sixties pop song plays softly in the kitchen.

 

He’s spooning an unhealthy mass of sugar into a mug of coffee when Steve wakes up. Billy turns sharply after he hears him gasp, and watches him shoot straight up on the couch like a startled zombie back from the dead. He rubs his eyes and looks over at Billy in a sleepy daze.

 

“Morning, Harrington,” he grins, sickeningly sweet and the toast pops up behind him. “Hungry?”

 

Steve doesn’t answer him, just raises his arm and looks at his watch. His eyes go wide.

 

“I have to work in thirty minutes,” he mutters in a panic, voice thick with sleep and stands. “I -  _ shit. _ Could you, if it’s not too much trouble-”

 

“Drive you?” Billy interrupts, placing a plate of food and a cup of coffee on the table. “Sure. After you eat, that is.”

 

“I don’t have time to eat,” he states plainly, but Billy’s not having any of that. He’s not letting Steve hit self destruct this time.

 

“Then I don’t have time to drive you to work,” Billy shrugs, trying to keep the smirk off his face when Steve looks at him like he’s just heard something wildly offensive. He  _ lives _ to make him look that way. Billy nods at the food on the table with crossed arms.

 

Steve scoffs, just as stubborn. “Who are you, my dad? Am I six?”

 

Billy laughs and says seriously, “I’m your friend, aren’t I?” He’s kind of expecting Steve to start gagging at the notion, to tell him  _ fuck no. _

 

But Steve nods once, still glaring at him. He checks his watch again and throws his head back in exasperation before sitting down at the table. He looks a little bit like a petulant child, but Billy’s not so bothered by it, especially not when Steve cracks a reluctant smile above the rim of his coffee cup.

 

Billy sits across from him and gestures toward the food Steve’s basically inhaling. “That’s the best I could do, we’re all out of real food.”

 

Steve glances up at him and says around a mouthful of Eggo, “Better than stale cereal.” Syrup drips down his chin and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

 

Billy watches with raised brows as Steve finishes, chugging the rest of his coffee like it’s water.

 

“I guess I was hungry,” Steve declares sheepishly. He looks up at Billy and grins, all soft and warm which is precisely how Billy feels.  _ Asshole. Motherfucker. _ “Thanks, man.”

 

Billy just chuckles and stands from the table, taking the plate and mug to the sink. “Don’t mention it.” He smirks to himself as he rinses the syrup from the plate, mumbling,  _ “Man.” _

 

In the car, Steve is freaking out because he’s already ten minutes late, and even though they have extra uniforms in the back, what if they don’t have any that fit him? And, shit, those guys are draining the pool today, and what is he gonna tell his parents when they get back, should he just get it filled again? No, that’s too expensive and his parents will be suspicious, he could make up a lie but he’s pretty bad at lying.

 

And so on in that fashion. Billy just listens, wondering if Steve knows he’s saying everything he’s thinking.

 

When they get to the mall, Steve swings his door open and turns to Billy with a wobbly smile. “Thank you. Again. For everything.”

 

“No problem,” he says easily, like it doesn’t matter at all when it  _ does _ and then adds, “I’ll pick you up?” He almost cringes at how hopeful he sounds, and how intimate the thought is. He needs to tone it down before he kills himself.

 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Steve is saying as he climbs out.

 

Without thinking, Billy grabs his wrist to stop him because apparently he doesn’t even take his own advice. Steve looks between him and the fingers gripping his wrist in shocked confusion, and Billy has enough sense to loosen his hold, to ease up a little. He’s always too rough.

 

“Don’t forget,” he says lowly. “We’re killing that son of a bitch, tonight.”

 

Steve looks at him for a long time, but he eventually grins, his eyes dark. “I’m looking forward to it.” Something in his face - sadism, the thirst for a fight, whatever it is - has Billy’s heart pumping hard.

 

Billy smirks and his tongue pokes out, running along his lower lip. He lets Steve go and watches him run into the building, his own shirt still covering him and his shoes caked in mud. He speeds out of the parking lot.

 

-

 

It’s not until he gets to the grocery store that he realizes he left his wallet at home. He yells some choice words at himself, Hawkins, and the world before he turns right back around to go home.

 

When he walks through the front door, he’s met with Max’s glaring face. Hopper’s kid is lying on the couch and she perks up when she sees Billy.

 

“Uh, hi,” he says, unsure, but decides to not ask why Max looks so angry with him or how she got home. He doesn’t care.

 

He goes to his room, grabs his wallet and walks back out, straight to the front door. But the knob won’t turn, no matter how much he jiggles it. Max snickers. He turns to the girls, jaw set. “What the hell’s the problem?”

 

“We’re hungry,” Max explains and Eleven sniffs, itching her nose. “The boys ate the rest of the pizza before we got up.”

 

“You snooze, you lose,” he shrugs. Max’s eyes narrow and he chuckles. “I’m hungry, too, Max, that’s why I’m heading to the store right now,” he explains, relenting but still acting like she’s the most annoying turd ever. She kind of is. “Harrington ate all our Eggos.”

 

Eleven stands right up and stares at him. He recalls the night before, when the Chief explicitly stated how his daughter was not allowed to eat Eggos. He looks at her strangely.

 

“Can we go with you?” Max asks excitedly. “We won’t annoy you, I promise.”

 

“That’s a promise you just can’t keep, Max,” he snorts, but somehow ends up pushing a shopping cart with a little girl hanging on either side.

 

They’re fairly helpful, however, as they run to fetch every item Billy asks for. He picks up eggs, bacon, and sausage, figures they probably need coffee, milk, and bread, so he gets those, too. He decides to get sandwich makings, peanut butter, jelly, and boxes of macaroni and cheese. Max asks for watermelon, so he gets that, and Eleven asks if they can get popsicles. He decides to humor her and tosses a box into the cart, and watches silently as she sneaks a box of Eggos into the cart. No way in hell is he messing with the Chief of Police’s daughter. Who has weird ass powers on top of that.

 

The girls are hanging off the cart again with Billy padding across the cool linoleum in his flip flops, pushing it, when Max gasps and says, “Can we get nail polish? I want to teach El how to paint her nails.”

 

Billy takes one look at Eleven, whose big wide eyes are looking at him hopefully, smiling a little. “I think she can figure it out herself.”

 

_ “Billy.” _

 

He sighs. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

 

They venture into the beauty section and he watches them look over the rows of nail polish, their elation tangible. He sort of understands now, why Steve is so whipped. They’re still little shitbirds, though _. _

 

Eleven looks over at him. “Billy? Do you want to pick out a color?”

 

He’s about to ask why the hell he’d want that, but Max chimes in before he can release any unthinking, impulsive remark. “C’mon, Billy! You’d look really cool.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Eleven can practice on you.”

 

Is he supposed to say no to a child who can and will snap his neck without even looking at him?

 

Besides, the more he considers it the less serious it seems. So what if he prances around Hawkins with painted nails? His reputation can’t really be diminished any further. Not that he cares a whole lot about what these fuckin’ hicks think. They wouldn’t know style if it shat in their face.

 

So he steps around the cart and looks over his options, deciding on a tiny bottle of black polish. Max rolls her eyes at his choice but Eleven smiles approvingly. Might as well ease into this and not go full queer while the rest of the town’s still stuck in the fucking fifties.

 

“One hand, that’s it,” he insists.

 

Of course, he ends up sitting at the kitchen table with one hand outstretched to Max, the other to Eleven as they all but pamper him.

 

When they finish their work, he inspects his nails. “Not bad, shitbirds.” As if he has any experience to critique them.

 

Truthfully, the more he looks at them, the more he loves them. They’re kind of badass, in a weird way. A small part of him reminds him of how he’s always, always wanted this, always wondered what it’d be like. Having it makes him feel good, but strange. Like this summer’s just not real, not actually happening.

 

“You like them?” Eleven asks hopefully and he can’t help but feel elated that she’s opening up around him. Proud of himself and wondering  _ why does this little shit like me so much  _ and  _ did she befriend Steve this quickly? _

 

“‘Course I do.” He gives her his best smile and she beams.

 

“Can you paint my nails now?” Max asks, already sliding her bottle of firetruck red polish over to him. She plants her hands in front of him, palms down.

 

Billy blinks at her. “I guess.”

 

He unscrews the bottle and his nostrils are filled with the acidic, sort of fruity smell of the nail polish. He takes Max’s hand gently in his and hesitantly slides the brush over her thumbnail. At the sight of the red polish, the single stripe on her nail, a distant part of him wants this to become a regular occurence.

 

Not painting each other’s nails, necessarily. Just being a decent brother to Max.

 

It makes him feel less full of shit.

 

Halfway through her second hand, while his tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration, Max grins and asks, “How are you so good at this? It looks perfect…”

 

“Guess I’m a natural,” Billy winks to piss her off.

 

“You’re gross, is what you are,” Max shoots, failing at keeping a straight face and Eleven watches them while she hides her smile.

 

When he’s done with Max’s nails, she gets up to use the bathroom, leaving Billy to sit in silence with Eleven. The only noise is the radio playing softly in the kitchen.

 

He admires his nails some more, but he can  _ feel  _ Eleven staring at him. When he glances above his outstretched hands, she looks away, but not quick enough. They continue this tango for a while, before Billy gives in.

 

“You want me to paint your nails, too?” He tries to grin at her but he’s afraid it looks predatory. The poor girl’s skittish enough as it is, he doesn’t want to scare her off now, when he’s gained some of her trust.

 

She smiles in that nervous way of hers and nods, curls bouncing. Her bottle of dark purple polish slides across the table towards him all on its own.

 

He eyes her as she places her hands out in front of him. “That’s kinda creepy, anyone ever tell you that?” He opens the bottle.

 

“You’re creepy,” she says, her face blank. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

 

They look at each other for what feels like ten minutes before Billy chuckles, and her face cracks into a wide, shy smile.

 

“If they have, I’ve blocked it out,” he laughs, taking her small hand in his. “Can you read minds?” He knows she can’t, he’s just trying to fill the silence.

 

Eleven shakes her head.

 

“Do you wish you could?”

 

She shakes her head again.

 

“Why not?” He glances up at her and sees her smiling at him. “I mean,  _ I  _ do. Sometimes.”

 

She leans across the table and says seriously, in a low voice, “Because I understand.”

 

Billy feels an amused smile creep across his face. “What do you understand?”

 

“People,” she answers simply. “You.”

 

He laughs. “I’m that much of an open book, huh?”

 

She furrows her brows at him.

 

“It’s an expression,” he explains without her having to ask. “It means someone’s easy to read.”

 

“You like to read,” Eleven perks up, eyes bright. “You got that book for me.”

 

He hums in agreement and takes her other hand, dipping the brush into the bottle.

 

“You like books. And music,” she tosses her head back in the direction of the kitchen, where the radio plays. He nods absently at her observations. “You like Steve.”

 

Billy freezes, nail polish dripping onto the table.

 

“Of course I like Steve,” he agrees and continues painting her nails, carefully. “He’s my friend, after all.”

 

“Yeah, like me and Mike are friends.”

 

He looks up at her slowly and sees her mischievous smirk, playful brown eyes. He can’t help but shake his head and laugh out of shock, confusion, and embarrassment. His face is burning.

 

He clears his throat. “I guess you have to teach me some of your tricks.”

 

“No I don’t,” she says calmly. “You already understand.”

 

Before he can even consider what the hell she means, Max returns. And he’s not going to talk about Steve in front of  _ two  _ intuitive thirteen-year-old girls.

 

Max huffs, running a hand through her frizzy hair. “I can never do anything with this,” she complains and throws it into a messy ponytail.

 

Billy finishes Eleven’s pinkie and she pulls her hands back to blow on her wet nails. “Wanna shave it off? Then you won’t have to worry about it at all.”

 

Max sits back and crosses her arms, all smug as she says, “I’ll shave my head when you shave yours. You’re in desperate need of a haircut, anyway.”

 

Billy kicks her shin under the table, but not hard. She kicks him back.

 

“C’mere,” he nods his head and pulls out the seat beside him.

 

Max gets up, rounds the table, and plops down in the chair, the back of her head facing Billy. He takes the hair tie out of her tangled, red mane and brushes his fingers through it until it’s smooth. He separates her hair into sections and as he braids it, he watches his fingers work, still stupidly giddy over his black nails.

 

He thinks, briefly, of what Steve will say.

 

And then fear is eating away at his gut at the thought, the slim chance that Steve will think he’s fucking weird or disgusting or some shit like that.

 

He wills all those bad thoughts away and ties the end of Max’s hair up. She reaches back and runs her fingers along the braid. “Thank you,” she says softly over her shoulder.

 

“Welcome,” he tells her sincerely and pushes her chair in when she stands.

 

Billy gets up and heads to the kitchen where he fishes a box of spaghetti out of the cupboards. He listens as Eleven asks Max, “Do you have any makeup?”

 

“No. None of the good stuff, anyway, just stuff from the drugstore.”

 

There’s a beat of silence between the girls as Billy gets a pot out from the cabinet under the sink.

 

“Does your mama have any makeup?”

 

“As a matter of fact, she does!”

 

Billy stops them before they can reach Susan and Neil’s room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Max.” If they use up all Susan’s makeup, or ruin it or break something in that room, Billy will be blamed and punished.

 

“You’re right,” Max nods sadly but Billy knows she’s not serious. “It’s a great idea.” With that, she brushes past Billy, Eleven trailing after her as she looks between the siblings.

 

Billy follows them, his stomach a pit of anxiety as he watches them rummage through Susan’s makeup drawer. He never goes in Neil’s room, so he stands right outside, afraid the doorway is cursed or some shit, like he’ll be burned if he crosses the threshold.

 

_ “Max,”  _ he says, pleading more than ordering and she knows it. She looks up at him from a tube of pink lipstick, her face falling when she sees his begging eyes. “I said it’s not a good idea.”

 

Max puts the lipstick down and Eleven frowns. Understanding, probably. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” She and Eleven leave the room, but something tugs at Billy. Something barely there, faint in his gut and in his chest.

 

“Wait,” he says without actually meaning to. He sighs, and mourns the loss of his dignity as he says, “I’ll do it. I’ll do your makeup. So you shitbirds won’t fuck it all up.”

 

He ignores the warmth in his heart when the girls smile brightly at his offer and walks into Susan’s room, holding his breath. He’s not struck down by lightning and he doesn’t burst into flames, so that’s good. He searches, carefully, taking tubes of lip gloss and eyeliner from the bottom of the drawer. Stuff Susan never uses and therefore won’t miss. He takes what he needs and goes, feeling weird and sick in that room.

 

Somehow, they end up in Billy’s room, with him sitting on his bed across from Eleven as he does her makeup. He unscrews a tube of mascara, bringing it slowly toward Eleven’s eye. She flinches and he frowns at her until she holds still.

 

“It smells like boy in here,” Max groans from the floor.

 

“I think you mean man,” he quips halfheartedly, focusing on not poking El in the eye. He saw his mom do this a few times and he thinks purely of the mechanics, not the emotions that come with the memory.

 

Eleven sighs in front of him. “Boys.”

 

_ “Boys,”  _ Max agrees grimly.

 

_ Ah, boys. _ Billy doesn’t mean to sigh happily, but he does. The girls don’t notice.

 

“Max, why are boys so difficult?”

 

Shit, fuck Billy if he knows.

 

“What did Mike do?” Max asks in a tone that says whatever he did, she’ll kill him for it.

 

“He says he likes that I’m different, but then he asks me to be  _ normal _ when we’re in public.” Eleven’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and Billy thinks he can feel her anger pressing down on him. He’s careful as he brushes blush onto her cheeks.

 

“What the hell is his problem,” Max spits, and Billy sees out of his peripheral as she stands and paces. “Did he forget how much of a weirdo he is? How dare he tell you to be  _ normal.  _ Ugh.”

 

“It’s because of his fragile masculinity,” Billy hears himself say. “He’s just intimidated by how badass you are, Eleven.”

 

“What do you mean?” She asks with wide eyes.

 

Billy hesitates. “I mean,” he starts and sighs. “I mean he doesn’t want to look weak in front of other people. So he tells you to stop being, you know…” he makes a gesture, trying to convey meaning.  _ “You.  _ Strong, smart, cool as hell.”

 

Eleven considers his words, he sees the wheels turning behind her eyes. His mattress dips beside him as Max sits down. “But, Mike isn’t weak,” Eleven says, voice small. “So why does he do that?”

 

“Maybe he’s not weak, but he’s stupid,” Billy explains. He mumbles, “All boys are stupid.”

 

Max chuckles and nudges him as she says, “Yeah, all boys except for  _ Steve.” _

 

Is he really so fucking obvious that even little girls see right through him?

 

Billy glares at her a moment, annoyed that he taught her the smug look she’s wearing, and then turns back to Eleven, swiping sparkly lip gloss onto her lips. Billy rubs his lips together and smacks them and Eleven mimics him.

 

Eleven gets up to admire her reflection in his mirror.

 

“Did I do okay?” Billy asks from his bed as Max sits in front of him.

 

“Yes. Bitchin’.”

 

Billy’s eyes widen but he doesn’t question it. Thinks of the Chief.

 

He does Max’s makeup while Eleven snoops around his room and something cracks and mends inside of him at the same time.

 

“Max?” He says in a stuttering breath, and he’s not really sure where he’s going with it until he says, “Y’know I care about you, right?” Max opens her eyes and squints at him as he applies mascara to her bottom lashes. “And I’m… sorry I’ve been such a shitty brother to you.”

 

Max looks at him a long time, but a smile eventually blooms across her face. “I care about you too, you know. I haven’t been a great sister, anyway, so. Don’t feel too bad.” She chuckles weakly. Emotional vulnerability is not something either of them  _ do. _

 

Billy purses his lips, thinking. He finishes her makeup and says, “Then let’s make a deal.” She raises a brow. “Let’s agree to stop being shitty to each other.” He offers Max his hand.

 

She takes it and they shake. “Deal. Can we also agree to stop it with this sentimental bullshit? It makes me feel gross.”

 

They both cackle like maniacs.

 

Suddenly, Eleven plops down between Max and Billy. “Aren’t you gonna get your makeup done, too?”

 

Billy looks at her, gobsmacked. “By you two?”

 

The girls look at him, offended, and he pokes his tongue out at them.

 

They got him with the nail polish, but there’s no way in hell he’s wearing makeup. That’s too risky. That’s too… 

 

“Please, Billy?” Eleven asks and, yeah, how does Steve ever say no to her? “Only a little bit?”

 

Billy slouches, his resolve fading.  _ “Fine.  _ Only eyeliner, though.”

 

They nod enthusiastically. Max takes the black pencil to Billy’s eye, running it carefully underneath his bottom lashes. “Smudge it,” he directs her, and she complies. It’ll be less noticeable that way. When it’s Eleven’s turn, she bites her bottom lip in determination. He’s afraid she might actually blind him but he doesn’t tell her that. She copies Max’s process, using her thumb to smudge the black under his eyes.

 

He looks at them as they review their work. They look satisfied. “How do I look?”

 

“Bitchin’,” Eleven immediately answers and they all laugh.

 

“I truly hate to say it, but El’s right. You look good, Billy.”

 

Billy makes a noise, doubtful and ready to wash his face, but then he gets up and walks toward his mirror. It’s the slightest hint of makeup under his eyes, barely there, yet it makes a significant difference to him. He likes the way he looks, he really does. He kind of does look… bitchin’.

 

He looks back at the girls proudly, nodding his head. “Nice,” he says in an uneven tone, because there are layers and layers of emotions running through him. It feels like tangled words and thoughts are finally smoothing out inside his head.

 

Billy makes them spaghetti for dinner and, as they eat, he makes sure to slurp his noodles obnoxiously in order to bug them. He’s successful; counts a total of seven eyerolls between the two of them. After he rinses their plates, he does something really fucking dumb and sappy. He puts some spaghetti on a plate and covers it with tinfoil. For Steve, if he wants it.

 

He thinks he’s pretty pathetic, but as long as he never breathes a word of it to anyone, it’s fine. Besides, if he doesn’t make Steve eat, he’ll probably go to bed with an empty stomach. Which pisses Billy off.

 

“Billy?” Max calls from the living room, where she and Eleven retired to watch TV. “Any chance you take us for ice cream?”

 

Billy pauses for a moment, checks his watch. He has to pick Steve up anyway. “Yeah. Sure. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

 

So he takes them to the mall and he strides to Scoops Ahoy like he owns the place, even though he doesn’t feel an ounce of the confidence he wears and is acutely aware of the polish on his nails, the eyeliner smudged under his blue eyes. The mall is close to closing time so the crowd’s pretty thin, but if anyone looks at him curiously, he ignores them because the only opinion he really cares about is Steve’s. Which, sad as it may be, is entirely true.

 

Scoops is almost empty due to the time, save for a couple in the corner sitting way too close to each other and an older man sitting by himself, drinking a strawberry shake. Billy sees Steve at the counter, filling the napkin dispenser with his back to the entrance. He’s wearing a spare uniform, and, yeah, Billy can tell it’s a tad small. He swallows and his throat feels rough, but he walks right up behind him all the same. He clears his throat to get Steve’s attention.

 

Steve turns toward him with a smile. “Aho-” Billy watches as Steve’s brain shuts down, “-ly  _ fuck, _ man.”

 

“Language,” Billy scolds as Eleven steps in front of him, smiling at Steve who’s simply dumbfounded.

 

“Hi, El,” Steve says quietly, a smile flickering across his face. “Mad Max,” he nods. A few napkins fly from the pile he’s holding.

 

“You dropped something,” Max points out helpfully. Billy  _ feels  _ her smirk.

 

Billy watches Steve struggle to form words, his brown eyes wider than the plates they had spaghetti on. Staring at Billy. “I - uh, w-what brings you guys here? I mean, how can I help you?” Steve looks confused by his own words, walking around to the other side of the counter. He faces them. “You guys look really pretty, by the way.” Billy’s face is in flames as he hears the girls thank Steve.

 

Steve diligently scoops their ice cream into cones, not even having to ask what they want.  _ Mother’s intuition.  _ Billy stands with his arms crossed, pretending not to notice when Steve glances over at him. When Max and Eleven get their ice cream, they thank Steve again and find a table to sit at knowing full well the situation they’re leaving the boys in.

 

Steve plants his hands on the counter, leans over. “And for you?” He smiles a little.

 

“I’m fine, thanks. What do I owe you?” Steve hasn’t said anything about the makeup, even though he clearly noticed it, and he’s still being friendly to Billy. He takes that as a positive sign.

 

Steve waves a hand. “It’s on the house.”

 

Billy is about to insist on paying, but Steve interrupts. “You’re wearing nail polish.”

 

Billy’s gut twists uncomfortably and he chooses his next words carefully. “That a crime?”

 

Steve shakes his head slowly, ghost of a smile on his lips. “No. Can I see?” He sticks his hand out, expecting Billy to place his own in it. He does, and Steve tugs a little, making Billy stumble forward an inch. Steve inspects his black nails a moment and hums. He looks back up at Billy, eyes narrow as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. “Eyeliner?” He lets go of Billy’s hand and makes a vague gesture at his eyes.

 

Billy can’t read Steve’s reaction and it’s scaring the shit out of him. He nods wordlessly. A feeling akin to shame takes shape in his chest.

 

Steve sighs. “You look like a badass. Like a fucking rockstar or something.” And then Steve’s smiling one of those big, real, goofy smiles, and the relief Billy experiences is overwhelming.

 

“Aw, thanks, pretty boy,” Billy all but purrs, stomach flipping in excitement. Feeling extremely ballsy, he turns and throws a wink over his shoulder, joins the girls. He thinks he hears Steve choke.

 

Minutes after he takes a seat, Max is mumbling behind her cone, “He’s looking at you again.”

 

“Lucky him,” Billy remarks, shrugging like he’s not affected. He sticks a finger in Max’s ice cream and dodges her kick under the table, licks the ice cream off.

 

Max rolls her eyes and Eleven says, “He  _ always  _ looks at Billy. When Billy’s not looking.”

 

Billy decides not to think about what she said, because he can’t allow himself to be hopeful. Having fun is one thing; hoping is something else entirely.

 

“Mall closes in a few, we gotta go,” he says and stands quickly. The girls follow him and he calls from the entrance, “Meet you out back, Harrington.”

 

Steve nods, still looking… pretty and lost. Billy smirks and turns sharply, leaving.

 

After five minutes of waiting out back, listening to the girls complain from the backseat about their stomach aches from eating their ice cream too fast, Steve comes out of the building. He’s holding his shorts and Billy’s shirt is hung around his neck. He hops in, eyes all bright and the sun only set minutes ago, the sky’s pink. Billy’s arm hangs out the window, a cigarette between his fingers, the air sweet and warm. Billy drives.

 

“Billy, I thought you said you wanted something sweet?” Eleven speaks up.

 

Billy says easily, “I got somethin’ sweet.” He absolutely does not chance a look at Steve.

 

“Oh,” Eleven says quietly.  _ Understanding. _

 

They arrive home and once inside, Billy remembers dinner. Wordlessly, he goes to the kitchen and uncovers the plate he put together. He pops it in the microwave and pours a glass of water before Steve even has his shoes off at the door (which he doesn’t have to do anyway but he’s a rich kid, so Billy doesn’t say anything).

 

“Hungry?”

 

_ “Starving,”  _ Steve sighs as he takes his sailor hat off, crumpling it in his grip and dropping it with his dirty shoes. Then he walks in socked feet across the hardwood floor to the table, the overhead lamp illuminating the two boys in a harsh orange glow. The girls are hanging out in Max’s room.

 

Steve’s face softens a little at the sight of the plate of food. “You spoil me.” His smile is so shy that Billy wants to fall through the floor and die.

 

“Hardly. Eat.” Billy forces his face to remain hard, stony, so as to not betray how he really feels. He wants to sit across from Steve, who’s devouring his food, but what would he even say?

 

It doesn’t matter because the girls emerge from Max’s room and sit with Steve, promptly talking his ear off, and Billy retreats into the kitchen to finish the dishes.

 

At some point, Billy hears Eleven say, “Billy did our makeup today. And he painted our nails.”

 

He pretends he can’t hear them over the running water of the faucet.

 

“He did?”

 

“Yup,” Max confirms. “Don’t you think he did a good job?”

 

“Yes,” Steve agrees in a raw voice. “Like I said, you guys look pretty.”

 

“We did his nails and makeup, too,” Eleven adds, and Billy’s suspicious of where this is going. “Doesn’t he look pretty, too?”

 

Billy drops a plate into the sink; it chips but doesn’t shatter. Luckily, the conversation continues.

 

“Uh, yeah -  _ yes.  _ He does. Look pretty.”

 

Billy believes today has been exceedingly gay. It’s fantastic. And a little bit scary. His fingers shake as he dries the dishes.

 

Ten minutes later, he jumps at a firm hand on his back.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve says and his eyes look weirdly heavy. He nudges Billy out of the way when he doesn’t say anything and washes his plate. Gives it to Billy to dry.

 

It takes him way too long to form words. In fact, Steve is talking again before he’s remembered how to make his vocal cords work.

 

“Thank you for dinner. You’re a better friend than I am, that’s for sure,” Steve chuckles and looks sad. Billy hates it.

 

“Shut up.” Okay, not the best preamble, but at least he’s speaking. “I mean, you’re welcome. But don’t fucking say that.”

 

Steve stares at him in wide-eyed shock. “Okay. I won’t.” Steve leans against the fridge and looks over to where Max and Eleven are watching TV. His voice is low as he says, “We have to stop at my place. You know, for my bat.”

 

Billy glances at him, sees the serious and firm glint in his eyes and nods. They’re going to kill the Demogorgon. “Alright. But what the fuck am I gonna do? I don’t think I can take this son of a bitch down with a pocket knife.”

 

Because he’s ridiculous and infinitely confusing, Steve laughs. “Yeah, I think it’ll take a bit more than that.” He thinks for a minute and Billy witnesses his eyes light up when he looks at him, asking, “How much do you care about your car?”

 

-

 

He’s not a fan of the plan. He doesn’t like it at all.

 

And it’s  _ not  _ because his car is gonna come out battered and bruised. It’s because  _ Steve _ probably will, too. It’s too dangerous.

 

He feels Steve glaring at him but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “If you have a better idea, please feel free to share it with me. But if you don’t, then this is the best shot we’ve got. So stop pouting.”

 

Billy’s  _ almost _ pissed at him. He looks at Steve, offended and ready to sneer something, but he’s still wearing his fucking Scoops Ahoy uniform and he can’t possibly be mad. Not at Steve, at least. He’s mad at this monster, he’s mad at the dimension it comes from, he’s mad at whatever malevolent force traumatized the Byers kid, at the organization that robbed Eleven of a childhood, at himself for smashing Steve’s face in while he was only trying to keep the kids safe.

 

“Hey,” Steve’s voice breaks his thoughts up, gentler than he was before. “You okay?”

 

His jaw hurts from clenching it so hard and his knuckles are white on the wheel. He gives one sharp nod.

 

Steve leans in. “We’re doing this,” he states firmly.

 

Billy doesn’t argue as they pull up to the quarry and Steve slides out of the car, bat at the ready. He turns to Billy before shutting the door. “Don’t get out of the car.”

 

He wants to say something to stop him, but he keeps his mouth shut and just watches Steve walk away, his broad shoulders set in determination. He twists his bat and finds a shadowy spot against the rocks, where he remains hidden.

 

He really hates this plan. But, without a weapon, it’s the only one that might work.

 

He turns his headlights off and waits. Waits for five minutes. Then ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes of eerie silence go by and Billy’s impatient. Suddenly, he recalls something Steve told him about the Demogorgon. Something about blood.

 

He perks up and fishes his knife out of his sock. He flicks it open and, hesitating only a moment, drags the blade across his palm, slicing it open. He hisses as the pain sears his nerves, stinging like fire dancing on his skin, but he’s felt worse. He watches in awe as dark blood drips from his self-inflicted wound, down his wrist. Quickly, he sticks his hand out the window and smears his own blood across his door. He doesn’t look to where he knows Steve is hiding, but he can feel his questioning eyes all the same.

 

Billy lets his blood drip onto the ground and then he hears it before he sees it. The menacing sound, halfway between a purr and a laugh, like it’s laughing at them. It pisses Billy off.

 

The Demogorgon appears ahead of him, its head glistening in the moonlight as it turns to observe its surroundings. Billy glances to where Steve is, barely able to make out his shape in the dark, and looks back to see the monster’s head tilting, curious as it crouches low and stalks on four legs toward Steve.

 

And Billy’s not having any of that.

 

He flicks his lights back on like Steve directed him to, the sudden illumination blinding in the night as it puts the creature in a spotlight. The Demogorgon stops abruptly and turns toward Billy’s car, face opening as it bares hundreds of teeth. Fear shoots through his gut, but not for himself.

 

For Steve, who flies out of the shadows like he’s the star of the track team and spins the bat in his right hand just before taking an upward swing. Billy shuts his headlights off again just before the nails in the bat cut into the monster. He hears it whimper, but it doesn’t retreat. It watches Steve back into the shadows, and then it crouches, ready to strike.

 

With one foot on the brake, Billy lays on the gas, engine revving. The Demogorgon doesn’t pay any attention to him, all its focus set on Steve. So Billy picks his foot up off the brake and hurtles toward the bastard. Steve disappears, gets out of the way.

 

Just before hitting it, however, Billy brakes and yanks on the wheel, all the while silently apologizing to his poor Camaro. The car spins and the tail rams into the Demogorgon, thoroughly jostling Billy. But the body of the monster goes flying into the rocky wall of the quarry, dust kicking up from the force of it.

 

Thinking only vaguely of the huge dent in his car, Billy accelerates forward, toward the monster again, and then slams on his brakes. Turns his headlights on, exposing the wounded creature and Steve comes out of nowhere, wielding his bat. He slams it into the Demogorgon’s gut once, twice, spins it in his left hand and swings upward, into its screaming face. The headlights go out again, but Billy didn’t turn them off. Steve disappears, back into the shadows as the monster slumps against the rock wall.

 

Billy puts the car in reverse and backs away rapidly, headlights flickering back on. In a terrifyingly human way, the monster rises to its full, hulking height. It screams, the sound deafening. It makes a move toward the car, so Billy thinks quick and, still in reverse, hits the gas, turns the wheel sharply. He swings around the Demogorgon, watching its head swivel between himself and where it hears Steve’s bat dragging across the ground, taunting it.

 

Billy stops when he knows Steve is standing in alignment with the car. In an unspoken agreement, they remain motionless while the creature moves quickly toward them.

 

When it’s inches away from the car, Steve comes racing out of the dark. He slides across the hood of the Camaro like some kind of fucking ninja, and Billy watches with wide eyes as Steve’s foot connects with the monster’s core. It falters and Steve moves swiftly, standing on the hood and swinging, whacking the Demogorgon in the skull. It cries out as Steve jumps off the car, landing his bat on the creature’s opened face. Billy thinks he sees teeth fly onto the ground.

 

And Steve doesn’t relent. He takes advantage of the monster’s state, wounded beyond recovery, and brings the bat down. Again and again and again, with a force that excites and enthralls Billy.

 

Feeling twisted, Billy grins, captivated as he watches blood spurt all over Steve’s blue uniform. This really must be a dream.

 

_ ‘This is it,’  _ he thinks. The Demogorgon has stopped fighting back. Billy turns the car so he can see the action better.

 

But it’s not over.

 

His headlights go out and then his radio turns on all by itself. The music blares and when he tries to turn it off, it gets louder. His headlights won’t turn back on.

 

Steve, satisfied with the motionless state of the monster beneath him, looks back to Billy, about to ask him what’s happening.

 

The headlights turn on again, brighter than ever, and then they’re flickering on and off, blinding Steve so he doesn’t see the Demogorgon’s massive hand reaching up.

 

Billy sees but it’s too late. “Steve!” He screams, fear turning his blood to ice.

 

The Demogorgon grabs Steve’s shirt and throws him onto the ground, pinning him down with a claw-like hand that covers his entire chest. Steve’s bat lays just out of reach.

 

Billy’s body moves on autopilot, stepping out of the car without thinking. Steve is thrashing as the monster’s face opens above his own, saliva dripping onto his forehead and cheek. Billy’s hand finds the bulge in his sock and he quickly fetches the knife, blade still wet with his own blood. He has one shot.

 

He has little time to aim, but he lines up and slings the knife desperately, watches the tip glint in the moonlight as time seems to slow down. The headlights are flashing.

 

He hits his target.

 

The knife spins straight into the Demogorgon’s open face, down its throat and it chokes. It stumbles, grip on Steve loosening and Steve springs into action, reaching the handle of his bat and bringing it between himself and the monster. He shouts as he uses all his strength to push the creature off of him before rolling on top of it. And then he really lets go, laying blow after blow directly into its choking face. It squirms helplessly underneath Steve, taking every hit.

 

Steve lets up, slowing down when he realizes the body is limp and motionless and the headlights no longer flash. Billy slumps against the hood of his car, relief flooding his entire body.

 

Steve spends a long time just like that, sitting atop the dead monster, chest heaving. Eventually, he stands on wobbly legs, eyes wider than the full moon and approaches Billy. The bat slips from his hand, cracked.

 

Now that Billy can see him clearly, he can see the blood and spit splattered across his open, broken face. His uniform’s torn and bloody. “I told you to stay in the car.”

 

Billy can’t believe his ears, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins has him ready to punch Steve in the fucking face for saying something so fucking stupid. “Are you fuck-”

 

With no warning, Steve tugs Billy toward him, wraps his arms around Billy’s waist and absolutely crumbles. It catches Billy so off guard, but he instinctively catches Steve, wraps his arms around his neck and holds him.

 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers into his chest. He takes a shaky breath. “Your knife is gone.”

 

And Billy laughs, a crazed and manic sound. “You’re ridiculous,” he breathes, close to crying. Steve makes a noise like a giggle against his chest. “So fucking ridiculous.”

 

He holds Steve for a long time, but they do separate at some point to take care of the corpse. When they pull away, Steve grabs Billy’s hand, the one he cut open, and frowns.

 

_ “I’m  _ the ridiculous one,” he mumbles, hands shaking as he slips his shirt off, removes his undershirt and takes the hem and tears it. “Sure I am.”

 

Billy watches, enraptured, as this absurd, insanely handsome, badass, sweet as honey nervous wreck of a man rips the material from his shirt and wraps it around Billy’s hand, tying it tighter than he should, just to make him wince. Steve is still muttering under his breath when he puts his shirt back on, tattered undershirt in hand, and turns to the body without acknowledging Billy.

 

His legs take a moment before they move to follow Steve.

 

He looks at the body for a long time. There’s a nail stuck in its shoulder. So this is reality now.

 

Billy takes the dead Demogorgon by the arms, Steve takes its legs, and they throw it into the quarry with a heavy  _ splash. _ They watch it until it sinks. Steve dunks his undershirt into the water and rubs his face furiously, taking away the blood and grime. Then he brings it to Billy’s car door, wipes the blood away to avoid suspicion.

 

The drive to Steve’s is quiet, save for the radio, and both boys are positively exhausted. Steve is staring into space and Billy’s mind is spinning in at least twelve different directions, but he’s only really aware of the utter relief of having Steve beside him and  _ alive. _

 

When Billy pulls up in front of Steve’s house, he’s about to say something stupid about Steve ruining his uniform, but Steve speaks first.

 

“Can I,” he sighs and looks defeatedly at his front door before continuing. “Can I stay at yours tonight?” His voice is small and tentative.

 

“Yes,” Billy answers without an ounce of hesitation. Fucking embarrassing, but the guy almost died tonight so he’s less upset with himself for being so eager. “Of course you can.”

 

The smile that lights Steve’s beautiful face up right before his lucky eyes is worth killing ten thousand Demogorgons.

 

Steve seems to read his mind, however, and looks everywhere before looking away, trying to straighten his expression out.

 

Steve nods and stumbles out of the car, legs like jelly. “Be right back.”

 

“If you’re more than five minutes, you can walk your ass to my house,” Billy says and relishes the way Steve flips him off without looking back. Gets an eyeful of what those tiny shorts aren’t hiding very well. He disappears into his house and Billy lights a cigarette, happy as a clam despite killing an actual monster not an hour ago.

 

When Steve gets back, he has a small gray backpack on, full of clothes and probably way more hair products than he’d ever admit to using. He snags the cigarette from Billy’s mouth and takes a drag. Billy’s way giddier than he should be.

 

_ Can’t Fight This Feeling _ comes on the radio and Steve stops Billy from changing the station. When Billy hears Steve singing the words softly, he turns it up. He starts humming along himself and Steve sings louder, his mood contagious and rubbing off on Billy. They’re both shouting the words by the time Billy parks outside his house.

 

When they get out of the car, Steve is offering to pay for the damage done to Billy’s car, smiling over the roof at Billy, but then his eyes move above Billy’s head and his face falls.

 

Billy follows Steve’s gaze, turning and looking to the sky.

 

It’s not clear at first, just fog and some clouds, but then he spots it. A shadowy figure, eerie and dark and Billy’s about to tell Steve not to worry even though he’s worried himself, but he doesn’t have to. The figure seems to just blow away in the breeze and disperse into harmless clouds.

 

Billy looks at Steve, who seems considerably calmer. “Nothin’ to worry about, pretty boy.” He smiles brightly at him and feels relieved when Steve mirrors his expression.

 

Steve turns and walks up to the door, letting himself inside. Billy follows, but casts one last glance up at the night sky before shutting the door behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT FEELS LIKE IT'S BEEN FOREVER SINCE MY LAST UPDATE AND FOR THAT I'M SORRY. Here, have Billy in nail polish and eyeliner as an apology. why haven't these fuckers kissed yet? I'm the one writing it and I'm fucking pissed at them.
> 
> not to be a pussy but your comments MAKE ME CRY. THANK YOU. don't feel too shy to leave a comment, even if it's literally just to say, "nice." I will eat that shit up.
> 
> would you guys be interested in having the link to the playlist I created for this story? I listen to it while I write, it gets me in the ZONE, man.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link to the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/anakinstarkiller/playlist/12O1nuvZ8xpSDfsd3LL7hY?si=rCfL7b4jTQyieoe-hBx6bw

Steve thought falling asleep on Billy’s couch would be easier. He’s bone-tired and still smells like a delicious mix between vanilla ice cream and Demogorgon blood, but lying in the humid living room, he’s wired.

 

Max’s bedroom door was left open and Steve can hear her snores, while Billy’s door was shut an hour ago. No sound comes from his room.

 

Steve blames his temporary insomnia on the fact that the Upside Down has decided it’s not done terrorizing Hawkins. It just feels as though this part of his life will never be over, like he’ll be battling demons from hell until he’s ninety. They’ve already taken lives - Barb, Bob, Mews - countless others, probably. Steve gets chills considering just how lethal these creatures are. And then he feels sick at the thought that of all the intelligent, valiant, and  _ good _ people that have risked or even lost their lives fighting this thing, he’s been the luckiest. He doesn’t deserve the lack of bruises and scars. It’s not fair that he’s gotten away with his life and most of his mental stability while Will, a  _ kid _ , will never be the same. Eleven hadn’t known normalcy until she met Hopper. Nancy and Jonathan have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. The fact that he’s gotten off so easily is simply unjustifiable.

 

And now he’s thoughtlessly dragged Billy into it. As if the kid doesn’t have enough issues of his own, now he has to deal with Steve’s bullshit, too.

 

Steve runs a hand over his face, suppressing the urge to groan at his own ignorance. Billy is  _ smart. _ He has a bright future ahead, a lot of opportunities and he shouldn’t be risking his life to protect Hawkins or some shit.

 

Steve never should have shown him that demo-dog. If he hadn’t, Billy would be on his merry way, enjoying his first and probably last summer in Hawkins.

 

An evil, selfish part of Steve is glad he showed him.

 

-

 

Steve doesn’t wake up so much as he just opens his eyes to a white sunny room, sighing at the throb in his temples but happy nonetheless. He can tell from the open windows alone that he’s up unusually early; the sun is pale and weak outside, nothing but a glow.

 

He’s exhausted, sore, smells awful, and  _ what the fuck is that sound? _

 

A clank, a soft grunt, low music. Steve’s muddled brain makes a connection and he peeks over the back of the couch to see Billy, lying on his bench pushing a weight off his chest like it’s nothing. His hand is still wrapped in Steve’s shirt.

 

It’s a totally normal sight, not one that should have Steve’s mouth dry. And yet...

 

Billy lifts the weight and secures it on the bench before he sits up and then Steve quickly forces his head back onto the cushions.

 

“Oh,” Billy says, short of breath. “Morning.”

 

“Good morning,” Steve feigns a yawn. He lifts his head minutely, just enough to meet Billy’s gaze and he gives him a bright smile. God, but the sight of him. “What time is it?”

 

“Seven forty,” Billy runs a hand through his sweaty curls. He then leans over and drops to the floor on his hands, banging out pushups like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. “Do you think-” Billy starts breathlessly, grunts, then continues, “You think last night was the last of them?”

 

It takes Steve a second to understand him. “No. Definitely not.” And then he adds bitterly, “The Upside Down spreads like a disease, there’s no way to stop it. At least, no one knows of any way…”

 

Perhaps he’s subconsciously telling Billy, “Run while there’s still time, before I get attached and blame you.” But it’s the truth, and he figures he owes Billy the absolute truth about what they’re up against.

 

“I thought you’d say that,” Billy breathes and then stops suddenly, rolling onto his back. He stays like that and Steve watches his sweaty pectorals rise and fall with his rapid breathing. “Should we tell the chief?”

 

“I don’t know, probably,” Steve mumbles and shakes his head, frustrated over what to do and his complete lack of power over everything. He’s quiet for a while, content to let his eyes track Billy as he puts on a pot of coffee and guzzles down water, then suddenly words are bubbling up from his throat, “Sorry about your knife.”

 

Billy throws him a look over his shoulder, face scrunched up. He shrugs it off. “Please, Harrington.”

 

“No, really, I am,” Steve insists and he’s not sure why it’s so important to him.

 

Billy just waves him off. “It’s whatever. Don’t sweat it.” He opens the fridge and rummages around. “Anyway, I think we should tell the chief.”

 

Steve sits up straighter. He opens his mouth to speak but he ends up just squeaking. “Yeah,” he laughs, “no.”

 

Billy turns fully around to fix Steve with a skeptical look. The veins in his arms and hands are sticking out from exercise and Steve has to pick his gaze up from them twice. “Why not?”

 

If there’s some sort of underlying threat in Billy’s voice, it flies right over Steve’s head because he’s still fixated on Billy’s fingers, hanging loosely by his sides. “Uh,” Steve swallows,  _ God _ his head is gonna explode. “Hopper can’t do anything we can’t do, have already  _ done.” _

 

“I thought you said he had backup or some shit-”

 

“Yeah, that was before a whole shitstorm of shit happened.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, distracting himself from staring openly at Billy’s glistening shoulders. He takes a breath and admits, “No one is helping us,” he makes a broad gesture symbolizing the entirety of Hawkins, the world. “I mean, I could be killed, probably, just for telling you about this.” And then he stops suddenly because the gravity of it all crushes him for a moment, not for the first time.

 

Billy is quiet for a minute and then he’s standing in front of Steve, shoving his legs off the couch so he can sit. He has a steaming cup of coffee in his hand which he silently nudges into Steve’s grasp. “No one’s killing you because I’m not telling anyone,” he insists lowly, in that deep drawl of his. Although he believes him - trusts him - Steve has to give him a look through pieces of his hair hanging in his face. Billy rolls his eyes and nudges him with his shoulder, almost spilling the coffee he gave to Steve. “Not a soul,” he reiterates and drags his thumb and forefinger across his mouth, locking it up.

 

Steve grins at him and takes a sip of his coffee to hide the ridiculous smile threatening to bloom. And then he considers his dilemma regarding giving Billy an out. “Seriously though, man. I told you about Will and the quarry, about  _ Barb,”  _ he reminds him, a sting in his chest. For one of the first times ever, Steve thinks he sees sadness in Billy’s eyes. “They’ll do anything to cover this steaming pile of shit up. They don’t  _ care. _ And anyone with the capacity to care will just think we’re all batshit crazy.” He takes a breath to steady himself. “So if you wanna run at some point, just make sure to run far. I get it.”

 

Billy’s expression changes instantly. His eyes go from wide to narrow to sincere in a second. “You really think I’d run from a fight?” Steve looks up from his mug at Billy, the beginning of a smile on his face. “Hm,” Billy hums thoughtfully, standing up. “The government doesn’t care? Never heard of  _ that _ .” He winks at Steve, suppressing a smirk, before he claps him on the shoulder and saunters back to the fresh pot of coffee.

 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Harrington.”

 

_ Thank God. _

 

“Oh God, Steve,” Max’s voice sounds from behind him, making Steve whip his head around to look at her. He gives her a bright smile. “He’s gonna stick around like a fungus.”

 

Steve chuckles at her and at the way Billy calls her a “turd brain” while he pours her a glass of orange juice.

 

“Steve?” A crackling sound comes from his backpack at the other side of the room. “Come in, Steve. Over.” At the sound of Dustin’s voice, Steve is stumbling up from the couch with a blanket tangled around his legs. “I swear to God, Steve, if you’re still in the shower… actually, you know what? I’m just gonna let myself in. Where do you keep the key again? Over.”

 

Max gets to his walkie talkie before he’s able to liberate himself from the blanket. “This is your Zoomer speaking. Over.”

 

_ “Max?” _

 

Steve snatches the walkie talkie from her hands. “Are you at my house? Over.”

 

“Are you  _ not?” _

 

“No, I’m-” Steve cuts himself off. Even after the other night, he still feels as though Dustin isn’t too keen on having Billy around. The whole  _ idea _ of Billy is a touchy subject with the kid.

 

“Oh my God, you’re at  _ his _ house?!” Steve flinches at the high pitched noise that comes from Dustin’s end. He glances at Billy, who’s looking at the walkie talkie as though he’s both amused by and ready to murder Dustin. It’s a strange balance but it somehow fits Billy’s face. “You’re conspiring with the enemy. I can’t believe you. Over.”

 

“Dustin, what the fuck is your problem, man?”

 

“Steve, you can tell me if he’s kidnapped you…”

 

With his face on fire, Steve throws an apologetic smile over to Billy before he finds the bathroom and locks himself inside. Max cackles on the other side of the door.

 

“Jesus Christ dude, shut up!” Steve begs Dustin, caught between being pissed at him and charmed by his (unwarranted) protectiveness. “He just heard everything you said, so. Good job. Over.”

 

Dustin’s quiet for a moment. “Yikes.”

 

“Yeah.” Steve catches his reflection in the mirror and instantly begins combing his fingers through his hair. “If he kills you, that’s your own fault.” Steve sits on the edge of the bathtub and sighs, “I don’t know what your problem with him is anyway.”

 

“I don’t know what your problem with him  _ isn’t!” _ Dustin insists and then follows it up with, “Okay, that didn’t make sense but you know what I’m saying.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Look, he’s not gonna beat me up again, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

 

“I also value my own life.”

 

“Okay, he’s not gonna beat  _ anyone _ up. Fair enough?”

 

“No.”

 

Steve sighs again and rubs a hand over his face. “The Party has made its decision, Dustin. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

 

Dustin groans. “The Party’s fucked.”

 

“Hey!” Steve scolds him. “Watch your language.” A smile quirks at the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I thought you, y’know, didn’t hate him at Hop’s. I thought you were starting to actually, like, kind of like him a little bit.”

 

Dustin makes a disagreeable noise on the other end. “I don’t trust the guy.”

 

“Okay,” Steve concedes. It’s too early to be arguing with Dustin. Maybe he’ll try again when he’s actually awake. “Why are you at my house?”

 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to join Will and I at the arcade, but seeing as you’re busy with your new best friend…”

 

Steve snorts. “Shut up. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.” Steve stands and turns his attention to the window, lifting the blinds to peek at the sunshine outside. “It’s too nice out to hang out at the arcade all day, man.”

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

“I’m suggesting,” Steve says in a low, serious tone, “an all out chicken  _ war. _ You, me, the rest of the Party. The community pool, eleven sharp.”

 

“What’s wrong with  _ your _ pool?”

 

“See for yourself, stalker.”

 

Dustin is quiet for a minute and then, “What the hell did you do?”

 

“It’s a long story.” And not one he plans on sharing with Dustin. “Just get the others, okay?” Then Steve smirks and, just to ruffle Dustin’s feathers, adds, “Unless you’re too pussy…”

 

“I’m not-”

 

“See ya!”

 

When Steve wanders out of the bathroom the pounding in his head has alleviated to a dull throb, but his chest feels tight and sore where the Demogorgon pressed down on him last night. His palms are calloused from gripping the bat as hard as he could and, basically, Steve feels as though no progress has been made in the whole Demogorgon department. There will be more battles, more blood, more bruises. The only difference is, now, Billy’s going to be bloody and bruised, too.

 

Max is sitting at the table as she munches on a bowl of cereal but Billy is nowhere to be found.

 

“Did you warn him that Billy’s gonna kick his ass?”

 

“I told him no one’s kicking anyone’s ass,” Steve assures her with a laugh. “Where is the ass kicker, anyway?”

 

“Probably kicking someone’s ass somewhere,” Max shrugs and smiles triumphantly when Steve laughs. “Sulking in his room.”

 

Steve chuckles and turns to head down the hallway. Billy’s influencing Max way more than either of them will ever admit.

 

Billy’s bedroom door isn’t shut all the way but Steve doesn’t just barge in. He raps lightly on the door and hears Billy on the other side, “If this is about braiding your hair, I swear to God, Max, I told you to  _ wait _ one minute.”

 

Steve pushes the door open and lets himself in. Billy’s sitting on his bed with that  _ mysterious  _ journal in his lap, scribbling what Steve figures is  _ mysterious _ plans and shit. Billy looks up at Steve with an angry frown, no doubt thinking he was Max, but his eyes go all round and soft at the sight of him.

 

“Is Henderson on his way to rescue you from me?” He smirks at Steve and licks his lips, going back to whatever he’s writing.

 

Steve chuckles awkwardly, standing in the middle of Billy’s room with no idea what to do now that he’s here. “No, actually. I assured him you didn’t kidnap me.”

 

Billy hums but doesn’t look up from his journal. Geez, whatever he’s writing must be pretty damn interesting. Steve eyes it, tries to read at least some of it from where he’s standing but it’s hard to read upside down so he crosses his arms and wanders over to explore Billy’s room.

 

There’s a poster of a girl in a bikini hanging on Billy’s closet door. Steve sort of squints at it and has this ridiculous thought that, were Billy a chick, he’d look like her. And then he realizes he recognizes her from a porno and his face flushes even though Billy can’t see him or read his thoughts. Steve quickly turns his head away from the poster and skims the few pieces of clothing hanging up - a worn leather jacket, the infamous denim jacket among them - before moving to an area of shelving that’s built into the wall itself. Billy’s got some books that Steve’s never read in there as well as tons of cassettes arranged in messy piles. Most of them are by heavy metal bands Billy’s always listening to in his car, but one cassette catches Steve’s eye.

 

Steve glances back at Billy, making sure he’s still scribbling away at whatever he refuses to share with Steve (his goddamn  _ friend) _ before he picks up the Toto cassette from the pile. He cocks his head somewhat incredulously because he just  _ knows _ that, were Billy to find this in Steve’s room, the teasing would go on for days. Steve makes a mental note to bother Billy about it later.

 

After setting the tape down, Steve slowly makes his way toward Billy’s mirror, enjoying the view all the way; Billy’s tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as he writes and writes about God knows what.

 

Steve grimaces at his reflection in the mirror and picks up a bottle of Billy’s cologne. It’s some expensive stuff Steve has never used himself, though he quite likes it on Billy. It fits him better. He’s got some mousse and hairspray there as well, nothing that works for Steve’s own hair.

 

Steve’s just about to huff and do something drastic to get Billy’s eyes away from that journal and on him instead when Billy silently appears behind him in the mirror. He narrows his eyes at Steve.

 

“You done snoopin’ around, Harrington?” And then he smiles in that kind way Steve’s still getting acquainted with.

 

Steve shakes his head slowly and eyes the journal laying on Billy’s bed. “Can you give me a lift home? The kids and I are going to the pool later, if you and Max wanna come…”

 

Billy raises his brows like he’s surprised or something, but then he nods. “Sure. Yeah. Lemme just shower real quick.”

 

Steve nods, looking at the Metallica poster on the wall when a random thought pops into his head and out of his mouth. “Where’re your parents? I mean, I know they’re away for the summer, Max told me, but where’d they go?”

 

Billy doesn’t answer for a minute, making Steve turn around to make sure he hasn’t left the room. Billy is in fact still there, just standing as he picks at the shredded material of Steve’s shirt wrapped around his injured hand.

 

“They, uh,” Billy starts and shifts his weight. “They’re in California right now. I guess they never got a honeymoon so they’re making up for it or some shit like that. Whatever.”

 

Steve nods in place of saying anything else, taken aback by Billy’s coarse response.

 

“And Steve,” Billy says from the doorway, unwrapping his hand. The fabric is stained crimson, making Steve cringe. He looks at the pretty nail polish he wears instead. “Susan’s not my mother.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to assure Billy he  _ knows _ that but nothing comes out. Billy flashes him a smile unlike the ones Steve’s been getting from him lately. It doesn’t reach his eyes; it’s more snakelike than anything, like he’s still out for Steve’s neck. Billy disappears from the doorway without another word.

 

He realizes he has a tense smile plastered on his face so he relaxes and makes a note of avoiding the topic of parents, or at least being more sensitive about it around Billy. Geez, Steve doesn’t enjoy making conversation about his own folks but whatever Billy’s situation is seems to dwarf his own tribulations.

 

Steve doesn’t really know Susan, Max’s mom, but he had assumed she was relatively kind considering who her daughter is. Unfortunately he has no idea what Billy’s dad is like. He remembers seeing him at a few basketball games and he glimpsed him at graduation, but he’s never interacted with the guy. Billy looks nothing like him.

 

Steve suddenly feels very uncomfortable as if something cold is slithering inside his gut, so he makes to leave Billy’s room. But that damn  _ journal _ is sitting on the bed, unguarded and open for Steve to just glance over.

 

Looking over his shoulder at the door, Steve carefully moves toward the bed. He nears it, tilting his head to read the contents of the tiny journal when his foot hits something under the bed. Steve toes at the object, probably an old shoebox or something, and squats to inspect it.

 

It’s a square box with tattered pieces of mismatched notebook paper littered across the top, all with carefully penned paragraphs, some just lines or stanzas. Steve doesn’t take the time to read through the papers because what’s underneath them makes him freeze.

 

Magazines with shirtless guys, half-naked guys posing for the camera.  _ Handsome _ guys. Steve quickly glances at the poster on Billy’s closet door, smirks for some odd reason, and skims over the covers of the magazines.

 

_ Blueboy _ says the one in yellow lettering on top of the selection Steve’s holding. There’s a blond guy holding his arms above his head, making eyes at the camera. Next to him is a guy in a leather jacket and aviators. Steve swallows, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he flips to the next edition which is more subdued; a closeup shot of a young blond, strands of his hair falling across his forehead. Steve’s eyes follow the shape of his parted lips before he can compose himself. On a whim, he opens the magazine and,  _ Christ, _ he’s not prepared for some of those pictures so he flips it shut and admires the next one.

 

_ TWICE AS NICE _ this one says, and then under it,  _ The Confessions of a Bisexual Man. _

 

Steve makes a face at that word. He’s sure he’s heard it before but he’s not exactly sure on what it means. He’s about to flip the thing open to solve the mystery when he hears Billy’s voice grilling Max about something. His heart jumps in his chest and he rushes to put the magazines back in the precise order he found them in. He places the papers back over them and pushes the box further underneath Billy’s bed before shooting to his feet and sneaking out of Billy’s room.

 

He slides stealthily along the wall of the hallway, toward the bathroom, and luckily does not come into contact with Billy.

 

He reaches the door of the bathroom and slips inside, breathing a sigh of relief. The room is steamy from Billy’s shower and Steve breathes deeply in an attempt to chill the fuck out. God, something is stirring inside him, telling him he’s struck gold but he has no idea what to make of his discovery. Like, he  _ thinks _ he knows what to conclude but… this somehow changes something for Steve. As if admiring Billy’s smile and his eyes like he’s so eager to lately could have far different repercussions than he’d expected. And he’d expected absolutely nothing.

 

Steve is unable to keep an idiotic smile off his face.

 

-

 

“Hey, dickheads!” Steve shouts and shoves Mike and Lucas away from each other as they try to beat the other one bloody with their flip flops. “Cut it out!”

 

Will rolls his eyes at them from a lounge chair, rubbing sunscreen into his nose and cheeks. Steve’s glad for the kid’s sensibility.

 

Dustin saunters up to him, goggles already on and fogging up. “Can you get my back, man?” Dustin presses a bottle of SPF 100 into Steve’s limp hands.

 

“Dude,” Steve says weakly. “Seriously?”

 

“It’s the least you can do after plotting with that treasonous snake.”

 

Glad for his dark shades, Steve rolls his eyes at Dustin’s indignant tone. He uncaps the sunscreen anyway and squirts a generous blob into his palm, rubs his hands together and tries to cover Dustin’s back as swiftly as possible.

 

_ “You’re _ the one that said the Party’s fucked,” Steve reminds him. “Maybe you’re the treasonous snake…”

 

Dustin actually gasps at that. “I’m just looking out for my countrymen,” Dustin argues and, upon seeing Eleven glaring at him from the next chair over, salutes her and says, “ _ and _ women.”

 

El smirks and shakes her head. Steve scoffs.

 

“Well, like it or not, Billy’s one of your country people now. Christ, why is this stuff so  _ tacky?” _ Steve pushes his sunglasses up off his face, onto his head and grabs a towel to rub off the excess sunscreen from Dustin’s back.

 

“Hey, Max is here,” Lucas says from his towel, rising to his feet and waving over at her.

 

Steve glances up from the mess of sunscreen he’s made and is very glad he’s already sitting down.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, too quiet for Dustin to hear over the noise of the pool.

 

Max is heading over to them, her red hair pulled back into a neat braid. She’s got her bathing suit on under a pair of shorts with a towel slung over one shoulder, beach bag on the other. And next to her is Billy, of course, looking like he’s walked straight from the magazines under his bed.

 

If he wasn’t already feeling hot under the sun, he certainly is now. His whole body flushes at the sight of Billy wearing just tiny red trunks and his sunglasses. Damn him. Steve’s mouth goes dry and he swears he sees Billy smirk at him, but that’s ridiculous.

 

“Are you done yet?” Dustin turns his head and fixes Steve with an intense  _ hurry the hell up _ look.

 

Steve grumbles and rubs the rest of the sunscreen in, wipes his hands on Dustin’s towel. He stands up and nudges Dustin toward the pool, out of the path Billy’s on right in front of him.

 

Steve genuinely wants to say, “Hello, how are you?” even though he saw Billy, like, an hour ago but his voice seizes up on him. Billy looks at Dustin and grins in that evil way he does, runs his tongue along his teeth.

 

“Hello, little boy,” Billy hisses lowly. Steve tries not to laugh at the way Dustin takes a half-step back. “Scram. Before I gut you.”

 

For all his talk, Dustin’s not very serious about “protecting” Steve from Billy because he all but sprints to the pool along with the others.

 

Once they have a bit of privacy, Billy smiles at Steve.

 

“Everyone was staring at you when you got here,” Steve points out.

 

“Jealous?”

 

Steve makes an awkward sound, something between a laugh and what seems to be a goose call. “Very,” he nods. He tries to force that new word he learned from his mind. “How do you walk around pretending no one’s watching?”

 

Billy shrugs and settles down into the seat next to Steve’s. “I guess you just have to learn how to not give a fuck.”

 

“Hm,” Steve hums and watches Billy pull a bottle of tanning oil from Max’s bag. Billy lets the oil drip down his chest, over his pecs and abs. He puts the oil down and uses both hands to rub it into his somehow already tanned skin. Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, still working on… that.”

 

Steve flicks his sunglasses off his head, chewing at the earpiece and quickly lies back to calm the hell down. Hopefully catch up to Billy’s tan.

 

A comfortable silence falls between them as they relax in the sun, and Steve must doze off a little because the next thing he knows pool water is dripping onto his face. He opens his eyes to see Max and Dustin hovering over him, their hair wet and joyful faces flushed.

 

“Are you coming in?” Max asks hopefully.

 

Steve sits up sluggishly, runs a hand through his hair and inspects the water. “Yeah, just a sec,” he assures them, sitting up properly. They run back to the pool and jump in, breaking the good news to the others.

 

“Lookin’ a little red there, Steve,” Billy quips, sitting up with his sunglasses pushed back into his hair. He just looks tanner, like his skin is golden.

 

Steve makes a face at Billy, only encouraging the smug look on his friend’s face. “C’mon, asshole,” Steve mumbles and stands. “I assume you’re not too afraid of ruining those pretty curls of yours?”

 

Billy tries to hide an amused grin from Steve and fails but he stands up anyway. Steve turns toward the pool, ready to test the water with his foot when he’s tackled into the deep end.

 

Luckily his attacker takes the harder fall, turning them around so Steve goes in back first. He hardly has time to pull a breath in before he hits the cold water, and he starts panicking for two whole seconds before he reminds himself whose arms are around him. The water is actually very refreshing, especially after lying in the hot sun all morning, but once Steve resurfaces, gasping for air, he’s glaring at Billy through the hair plastered to his face.

 

“Is something wrong?” Billy cocks his head innocently, smiling at Steve as he treads water.

 

Steve can only laugh incredulously at the boy in front of him before the kids come splashing into the deep end to torment them. Eleven and Max immediately cling to Billy, nearly pulling him under, but he steadies himself before grabbing them and diving underwater.

 

Dustin swims up to Steve, still in those silly goggles, and says, “Are you okay?”

 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine, man,” he breathes and watches Billy resurface with both the girls in his arms.

 

Will suggests they play chicken, now that they have two taller people and all, and the rest of them agree. They swim to the shallow end, pretending no one else is even there when the pool is in fact pretty crowded. As he lifts Dustin onto his shoulders, Steve wonders if that’s what Billy’s talking about, about not giving a fuck. It’s easy to forget about other people when Billy’s with him.

 

Billy has Lucas on his own shoulders and Steve thinks he may be dreaming, not for the first time. It’s wild how kind Billy is and how much joy he has to offer, once Steve gave him a chance. He would have never imagined someone so coarse and rough around the edges could be so easy to get along with.

 

After the first few rounds, Billy starts cheating, creating a new game between himself and Steve. When Max is on his shoulders, El on Steve’s own, he deliberately steps on Steve’s foot and winks when Steve gapes at him in disbelief.

 

Steve can play dirty, too.

 

Steve lifts his foot, presses it against Billy’s hip and pushes until he and Max are falling backward with a  _ splash. _

 

Steve whoops victoriously and highfives El, but Lucas is nearly having a meltdown.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lucas objects, brows set defiantly. “That’s cheating! You cheated!”

 

“Desperate times, desperate measures,” Steve explains easily, grinning at Billy’s pout.

 

“Rematch!” Max insists, already pushing Billy underwater to settle herself atop his shoulders.

 

This time, Billy hooks his foot behind Steve’s knee and makes his leg go out from underneath him. At the same time, Steve reaches underwater and pinches Billy’s side, making him yelp and splash water in his face. They both end up losing their balance and send the girls flailing into the water, laughing all the way. Steve’s pretty sure they’ll swallow up pool water.

 

Steve dips his head under, pushes his hair back off his face and wipes his eyes only to see Billy wading toward him before he tackles Steve back into the water. Even though he’s probably not supposed to, Steve opens his eyes underwater knowing full well how bloodshot they’ll be later. He wriggles from Billy’s grasp, comes up for air, and wraps his arms around Billy. He drags him to the bottom of the pool with a tight grip, determined to not let Billy win. Under the surface, Billy opens his own eyes and looks up at Steve before blowing bubbles up into his face. As Steve tries to recover, Billy slips from his arms and straight up lifts him into the air. He  _ throws _ Steve into the pool and he can’t even be mad about it because he’s too shocked by Billy’s raw strength.

 

They horse around some more until Max is asking Billy where his money for the snack bar is.

 

“I’m starving,” Steve announces, panting under the sun.

 

“Me too,” Billy agrees, running his fingers through his hair. He offers his hand to Steve. “Truce. For now.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes at him but shakes his hand anyway. Billy tightens his grip, twists Steve’s arm behind his back and shoves his face into the water. Steve swallows up some water from laughing too hard, but Billy quickly eases up.

 

“God, you’re easy,” Billy laughs maniacally.

 

“And you’re a dickhead.”

 

“For real this time,” Billy assures him and shakes his hand again.

 

At the snack bar, Steve gets a hotdog with mustard, Billy gets a slice of pizza, and they all share two orders of french fries. Billy bets everyone he can chug his soda faster than them, and they all take the bait. All of them but Steve, who watches them slurp their drinks down and nearly make themselves sick. He’s afraid for a moment that Will is actually going to yak all over his beach towel, the kid’s so green in the face.

 

“Someday, you’ll learn to avoid his traps,” Steve notes, sipping on his own soda.

 

“That’s no fun,” Billy whines, lying back on his lounge chair. Steve shares a private smile with him.

 

He’s starting to wonder which one of them will break the moment but he doesn’t get to wonder for long, as the skies cloud over and thunder rumbles in the distance. Steve looks to the sky, raising his sunglasses, and frowns at the dark expanse of clouds. The lifeguards blow their whistles, signaling to everyone to get out of the pool as mothers and children pack away their supplies with faces full of disappointment, whines and cries heard all over.

 

“This sucks,” Lucas gripes, folding his towel up reluctantly.

 

_ “Hawkins _ sucks,” Billy clarifies and merely grins at Lucas when he glares at him.

 

“Yeah, it does suck, but now I have to take you douchebags home, so hurry up.” Steve is thankful they were able to spend a good portion of the day in the sunshine, but now he has to leave Billy. He tries not to let it show how upset that makes him but it’s difficult when Billy’s fast becoming his favorite person. It’s a little bit scary and a little bit exciting.

 

“A little thunder and all these hicks tuck tail and beat it?” Billy wipes a raindrop from his cheek, looking unimpressed by the flash of lightning that goes crackling through the sky.

 

Max elbows him, but he gives Steve an amused look to show he’s only trying to rile the kids up. Steve loves that Billy is letting him in on his little tricks, although they can be mean, like they’re something to be shared exclusively with him.

 

The rain has quickly transformed into a downpour, causing everyone at the pool to hurry it the hell up. Steve makes sure the kids have all their stuff before heading back to the car.

 

“Steve!” Mike shouts above the splattering of the rain on the pavement. Mike, like everyone else, is holding his towel above himself and Eleven as a shield from the rain. “Can you bring us all to my house?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees absently, still wrestling with having to say goodbye to Billy for the day. He addresses the rest of the kids as he says, “as long as you all call your parents to tell them where you are.” He lowers his voice, leaning in to speak to El. “Especially you.”

 

Eleven nods dutifully. Lucas strides over to Billy’s car to tell Max that they’re reconvening at the Wheeler house.

 

-

 

“Take your trash with you!” Steve shouts at Dustin who almost leaves a candy wrapper in Steve’s cup holder.

 

Dustin grabs it from Steve’s outstretched hand, through his car’s open window, and leans in to grumble, “I saw the way he was looking at you,” of course referring to Billy, who is standing outside his car amid the storm, smoking a cigarette with his face turned to the dark sky.

 

Steve has to shake his head a little before he can respond. “What? The hell are you talking about, Dustin? And could you give me some space, man?! Your hair’s drippin’ all over my goddamn face!”

 

To spite him, Dustin shakes his hair out like a wet dog, spraying Steve. Steve scrubs at his wet face with his equally soaked t-shirt before giving Dustin a seriously pissed look.

 

“He was looking at you like he was ready to eat you, like a  _ cannibal _ , Steve!” Dustin’s voice gets more insistent as Steve rolls his eyes and starts protesting. “Seriously, dude! Like, if you end up in a ditch or a body bag or a human soup, I’m not gonna be shocked.” Steve gives him a look of offense. “Sad, yes. Of course. But shocked? Nope. The signs are all there, so consider yourself warned.”

 

“I’ve been warned,” Steve nods, mostly to get Dustin off his case. The kid  _ can _ be intuitive, when he wants. If he actually wanted to understand the dynamic between Steve and Billy… yikes. “Thank you. Now get inside and change into some dry clothes.” When Dustin tries to talk some more, Steve starts rolling the window up. “Goodbye, Dusty!”

 

Dustin finally heads inside, but not before flipping Steve off.

 

Steve sighs into his now quiet car, rain dancing atop the roof and skirting down the windows. His skin is a little burnt from the sun, making his whole body break out into goosebumps in the cool air from his AC. He brushes his fingers through his hair, out of his face, and gets ready to pull away.

 

There’s a sudden tapping on his window which makes him jump, heart pounding furiously in his chest. It’s only Billy, looking mighty happy with Steve’s overreaction. Steve rolls the window down again, wincing at how soaked the inside of his car has gotten.

 

“What’re your plans?” Billy flicks his cigarette out onto the street.

 

“Go home, watch a movie maybe,” Steve shrugs. “Why? What’re yours?”

 

Billy frowns. “Absolutely fucking nothing. I was enjoying torturing those freaks.”

 

Steve shakes his head disapprovingly and chuckles. And then he has nothing to say, so he looks up at Billy in silence, admiring his tanned face and the white teeth of his somewhat predatory smile.

 

“Let’s get out of here. Follow me.” Billy slaps the roof of Steve’s car before strutting back to his own and slipping inside.

 

Billy pulls away from the curb while Steve wonders briefly if he’s already willing to do anything Billy suggests, though he quickly settles that question when his tires screech across the street to catch up to the object of his thoughts.

 

Because Hawkins is not a big town and because Steve knows every road like the back of his hand, he soon realizes that Billy’s leading him to Lovers’ Lake. Steve’s stomach flips but he quickly decides it’s nothing, doesn’t mean a thing. Billy’s still relatively new in town, he probably doesn’t even know the significance of Lovers’ Lake. Doesn’t know what people  _ do _ there.

 

Steve parks next to Billy, their view of the lake impeccable. Apparently ready to run after Billy in any given situation, Steve steps out into the rain and invites himself into Billy’s Camaro, trying to hide his cringe at the significant dent on the side where Billy ran into the Demogorgon. He makes a mental note to do something about that before sliding inside.

 

Billy flashes a grin at him and, okay, Steve’s mind tricks him into thinking there’s something intimate about the situation. He’s looking between Billy, who fiddles with the stereo, and the lake with droplets of rain dancing across its surface when he almost opens his big mouth and asks, “Why here?”

 

Before he can start  _ that  _ awkward conversation, the kind that could end their friendship, Billy’s tape starts playing as he produces out of thin air a joint with the flutter of his hand.

 

“I haven’t smoked in forever,” Steve announces as if it’s of any relevance.

 

“Well, forever ends now,” Billy declares merrily, a glint in his eye as he flicks his Zippo open and lights up. He takes a deep drag and holds it as he offers the joint to Steve.

 

The scent of pot is one Steve has only ever associated with parties and high school and fake conversations with people that pretended to like him, whether for popularity or sex or simply because they were bored of everyone else. This, though, it feels real. There’s something funny about Billy not even  _ pretending _ to like him, at first. Proves he’s not trying to get anything out of Steve, save for his friendship and company. Steve takes the joint from his fingers and doesn’t hesitate to take a long, deep drag. It burns a little bit, though Steve has always sort of liked that part.

 

Passing the joint back to Billy, Steve can’t help it when he asks, “Do you know what this place is?”

 

Billy glances at the water. “A lake?”

 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Well,  _ yeah, _ it’s a lake. But, I mean, do you  _ know _ what lake it is?”

 

“No, Steve, I don’t,” Billy exhales smoke. “Sorry ‘m not an expert on Hawkins.” He gives Steve a serious look and lowers his voice. “Why? Someone… go missing here?”

 

“God, no,” Steve sighs and sits back in his seat, getting comfortable. He shrugs, “It’s just a lake.”

 

“You’re fucking annoying,” Billy laughs, slightly exasperated. Steve sort of likes getting on Billy’s nerves, he’s easy to bother. “Lucky if I don’t drown you in this lake. And then I’ll ask people, ‘you know what this lake is? It’s where I fuckin’ murdered Steve Harrington.’”

 

Steve stares at Billy in wide-eyed shock before he lets out a stupid, goofy bark of laughter. And then, passing the joint between themselves, they break off into a detailed conversation of how they’d kill each other. Steve has a vivid plan in which he frames Dustin for Billy’s murder, making Billy cry tears of laughter.

 

They finish the joint eventually and Billy says, “I gotta say, man, I won’t kill you. Probably.”

 

“Fuck you,” Steve mumbles, melting into his seat with a lazy, high smile. “I probably won’t kill you either.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Steve hums and they sit in silence for a while, save for the rock music Billy’s got on, something Steve doesn’t recognize. He smiles a little to himself.

 

“Toto, huh?” He opens one eye to watch for Billy’s reaction.

 

Billy makes a face. “Excuse me?”

 

“The tape, in your room.” Steve smiles when Billy narrows his eyes at him. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

 

“I’m not,” Billy smiles and sits back in his seat, satisfied in his resolve.

 

“Then why do you have that tape, Hargrove?”

 

“It was a gift, Harrington. Never listened to it.”

 

“Liar. That shit had your prints all over it.” Steve starts humming the tune to  _ Change of Heart _ until Billy glares at him. “It’s not  _ bad _ just because it’s not this macho shit you listen to all the time!”

 

_ “Macho shit?” _ Billy gapes at Steve, incredulous.

 

“Okay, that’s not what I meant-”

 

“Fuck what you meant! This is  _ good shit, _ Steve.”

 

The urge to tease Billy is too strong to resist. “I’m just saying, it sounds like everything else you listen to,” he shrugs and tries his best not to smile.

 

The offended look on Billy’s face is as clear as the morning had been, but he scoffs and pretends to be unbothered. “I-” he makes a face, nearly wincing at Steve’s believed ignorance. “It’s  _ Metallica, _ Steve. How…”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, suppressing laughter at Billy’s wide-eyed horror.

 

Billy sits up and regards him seriously. “You gotta be kidding me, pretty boy.”

 

Steve’s definitely not smiling at that. No, his face gets all hot before he can remind himself he’s trying to play a  _ game _ here. He looks at Billy cluelessly.

 

Billy pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “Look, not that it’s a big deal or anything, but For Whom the Bell Tolls has the greatest intro to any song, ever.”

 

It’s made better by the fact that it’s obviously a big deal to Billy. “According to you.”

 

“Yeah, and I know what the hell I’m talking about, so,” Billy searches for a cigarette a bit manically before he finds one and sticks it in his mouth, probably so he’ll stop frowning at Steve. “Plus, it’s inspired by Hemingway, which is just, like, the best fucking thing ever. Did you know that?” Steve shakes his head and Billy smiles crookedly. “God, you’re lucky you’re pretty, Harrington.”

 

Twice in one day. Steve feels pretty goddamn lucky, even though Billy is high and so full of passion for Metallica that he probably doesn’t even realize what he just said.

 

While one of the most masterful metal albums in history (Billy’s words) plays, Billy starts talking about Ernest Hemingway and his whole iceberg thing, which Steve is sure was mentioned in English class but he’s also pretty sure he had the stomach bug that week. Billy explains it better than anyone, anyway. He turns the volume up a bit and starts to describe how the band recorded the album, the inspiration behind each track, and Steve kind of zones out not because he’s bored but because hearing and watching Billy get real passionate about music is making his heart all fluttery and his face  _ burns _ because of it.

 

Billy declares that the song currently playing is his favorite, so he stops talking and tells Steve to listen. When it’s over, Billy turns to him, expectant.

 

Steve purses his lips and nods like he’s doing Billy a great favor. “Yeah, alright. That was okay.”

 

In actuality, Steve loves it, but the look of horror painted on Billy’s face is too good.

 

Billy sits back in his seat, exasperated, running a hand over his face, through his hair. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

 

“I mean, it was  _ good _ I guess…”

 

Steve stifles a bout of giggles when Billy ejects the tape and mutters to himself. He fiddles with the radio dial, mumbling about the shitty stations as the car is filled with the fuzzy sound of static. He finds a station after some trouble, turning the volume up and saying pointedly to Steve, “Does  _ this  _ sound like every other song?”

 

Admittedly, it doesn’t. It’s still metal and still not something Steve would ever listen to, had he never befriended Billy, but it’s good. He can actually understand what they’re saying, too, so that immediately sets it apart from all the stuff Billy listens to, as they’re usually screaming incoherently. But whether or not Steve likes it is irrelevant because he’s simply enjoying the fact that Billy really,  _ really  _ likes this song. He’s smiling wide and singing along and the longer the song goes on, the more he gets into it. Billy’s foot is tapping along, his face alight with joy as he sings the words like he’s in the music video. He looks like he could be in the music video when he breaks out the air guitar. When the songs ends and the radio host’s voice starts jabbering, Billy turns the volume down and grins at Steve.

 

“Please tell me you know what that song was…” Billy sounds like he’s holding his breath.

 

Reveling in the scrutiny he’s under, Steve shrugs and laughs when Billy rolls his eyes, throwing himself back into his seat.

 

“Jesus, okay. Do you at least know the band?”

 

Steve squints and pretends to think real hard, but his face cracks when Billy sighs like he’s physically pained.

 

“Mötley Crüe, Steve! Home Sweet Home!” And, yeah, Steve knows who they are, obviously, but watching Billy get frustrated is so worth playing dumb.

 

“It’s another kind of metal, that’s why it sounds different. God, Harrington, you’re lucky you’re nice to look at.”

 

Steve doesn’t say a goddamn word, content with watching Billy change the station again and curse at the static, totally unaware of how his words are affecting Steve. His eyes glide over the tanned skin of Billy’s arm, reminds himself not to touch, sneaks a glance at the freckles dotted over the bride of Billy’s nose and the tops of his cheeks. A sudden sigh shudders out of him as he sinks further into the seat, now staring unabashedly at Billy.

 

“Hey, Harring-” Billy turns to address him but quickly cuts himself off and turns back to the radio, then to his package of cigarettes.

 

“Yeah?” Steve drawls, smiling like an idiot because the pot is making everything slow down.

 

He sees the corner of Billy’s mouth quirk up in an almost-smile, lighting his cigarette. “Nothin’.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows at him but doesn’t press.

 

Billy eventually breaks out a pack of beer from his trunk and, while they drink with the radio playing softly in the small space between them, Steve puts his feet up on the dash. Billy doesn’t say anything about it. Steve changes the station and Billy doesn’t grumble any complaints about that, either.

 

He gasps when he hears  _ Hammer To Fall, _ turning the volume up just a bit.

 

“Oh my god, I fucking love Queen.” Steve tips his head back and drinks his beer merrily.

 

“They’re alright.”

 

Steve’s eyes snap open and he fixes Billy with what he hopes is the meanest glare anyone’s ever given him.

 

“Take that back.”

 

“Take back facts?” Billy grins at him, challenging, and licks his lower lip. “Look, I didn’t say they’re  _ garbage, _ they just-”

 

“Take it  _ back.” _ Steve points an authoritative finger at him to really lay down the law.

 

Billy’s eyes go all soft and round. “Sorry, Stevie. I won’t.”

 

“I- you-  _ ugh,” _ Steve’s ready to pounce on Billy and force him to take it back. “You can’t possibly think that about them.”

 

“Why not?” Billy shrugs a shoulder and blows smoke in Steve’s direction.

 

Steve knows he’s being toyed with and he loves it. But he also loves Queen and will defend them against anyone. “Because it’s  _ Queen! _ It’s not,” he pauses for the right words,  _ “macho shit.” _

 

Billy opens his mouth to argue but Steve quickly slaps a hand over his lips. “I don’t wanna hear it. Whatever you’re gonna say is wrong and I won’t tolerate any Queen slander.”

 

Billy fucking bites his hand.

 

“What the fuck?!” Steve shrieks as he pulls his hand away but is unable to keep from giggling madly at Billy’s evil smirk. “Ass.”

 

He waggles his brows at him and flicks his finished cigarette out the window, into the pouring rain. Thunder rumbles in the distance as Steve inspects the teeth mark on his palm, grinning idly.

 

Billy speaks up softly, watching the rain dance on Lovers’ Lake, “I won’t tolerate Metallica slander.”

 

Perhaps it’s the beer and weed with the added effect of a day spent in the sun, or maybe he’s just losing it, but whatever the case may be, Steve’s looking at Billy and imagining himself climbing into his lap and seeing what happens after that.

 

Instead of that, though, he offers his hand to Billy. “No band slander.”

 

Billy takes his hand and they shake, not one of those firm, cold handshakes done in the company of fathers and coaches and the men at the Harringtons’ fancy dinner parties, but one that’s soft and warm and expecting nothing, neither boy trying to prove anything to the other. It’s foreign to Steve and he finds himself lost in the sensation of it until he realizes he’s just holding Billy’s hand now. Quickly, he turns Billy’s hand palm up and leans in to bite him in retaliation.

 

“You bite like a kitten, Harrington,” Billy sighs, his eyes shining with mirth.

 

Steve shoves his hand away, absolutely not thinking of the taste of Billy’s skin on his tongue.

 

_ ‘Twice as nice,’ _ flashes through Steve’s mind but he ignores it, thinking it’s random and senseless.

 

“Sorry I’m not very experienced in fucking  _ biting _ people, you maniac.”

 

Billy cackles before guzzling the rest of his beer, looking content to stay there a while longer but Steve is growing restless.

 

“Wanna head to my place?” He suggests, hand already on the door.

 

Billy nods his assent and Steve climbs out into the rain, lightning shooting across the nearly black sky. His eyes linger on the clouds longer than they should, he knows he’s letting his paranoia rule him. He shudders and moves to his car, hightailing it home with Billy close behind.

 

-

 

Steve knows that he wouldn’t even be able to look at his house if Billy weren’t with him, and he’s again thankful for his mere existence. The rain somehow gets heavier as they sprint from their cars to the front door, where Steve drops his keys twice. It rushes down in fat droplets accompanied by blinding lightning and thunder so loud it rattles the windows.

 

The AC on their wet skin is simultaneously wondrous and unbearable, prompting Steve to look for dry clothes for Billy.

 

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” he throws over his shoulder and heads upstairs into his room, raiding his drawers.

 

He finds his favorite gray hoodie for Billy, then lurks into his parents’ room where he grabs his father’s red hoodie,  _ Indiana _ written across the front in block letters.

 

Downstairs, Steve finds Billy gazing out of the sliding glass door, arms wrapped around himself. He looks almost small like that.

 

Billy catches Steve’s eye in the reflection of the door and turns around.

 

“I, uh, got you this,” Steve mumbles and hands him his hoodie.

 

Billy slips it over his head, leaving his wet hair tucked inside and pulling the hood up. Steve thinks he might fall over.

 

He puts his own sweatshirt on and makes his way into the kitchen where he ransacks the cupboards and fridge. He comes away with a few cans of beer, potato chips, Fruit Roll-Ups, Oreos, a bag of popcorn, and a tub of vanilla ice cream, a spoon in the pocket of his hoodie. With full hands Steve prances into the living room, spreading himself out on the carpet.

 

“Damn, Steve,” Billy remarks as he joins him on the carpet. “What’s the occasion?”

 

Steve shrugs, tearing the bag of popcorn open. “I don’t need an occasion to indulge.”

 

Billy looks at him, impressed, and grabs a beer, cracking it open and drinking deeply. “Damn.”

 

Steve opens a beer for himself as Billy falls onto his back, rolling over onto his stomach to look out the sliding glass door again. Munching on some popcorn and washing it down with beer, Steve drags his bag of food over to plop himself down next to Billy. Silently, he angles the popcorn toward Billy, offering. Billy takes a handful.

 

“If it rains like this all summer, I’m moving,” Steve announces, only flinching a little bit when a big crack of thunder shakes the house.

 

“I dunno, as much as I love the sun, I kinda like rainy days,” Billy muses, chin in hand. His nail polish is chipping. “Max says it’s un-American of me.”

 

Steve grins, eyes sliding over to peek at Billy. The hood covers most of his face, only the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips visible. Steve traces them in his head.

 

“I don’t know why I told you that.” Billy’s words take Steve by surprise. They sound so tiny and far away.

 

He wants Billy to tell him everything and never give a second thought about sharing. He wants Billy to voice every thought, joke, compliment, and even each grievance he has, to him. Maybe that’s more than a friend should give, but Steve is becoming so obsessed with Billy he doesn’t even care about what’s normal anymore.

 

Without pausing for thought, Steve reaches for the hood over Billy’s head and gently tugs it away, watching his crazy golden hair spill out, watching the way he furrows his brows at Steve. “‘Cause I’m listening,” is the only excuse he offers Billy.

 

Lightning flashes and Steve watches its brilliance in Billy’s gleaming eyes, like a sudden thought or emotion rushing through Billy himself. He grins at Steve, all lopsided and soft and sharp teeth. Steve runs his thumb mindlessly over the mark that’d been on his palm and thinks idly of the wound on Billy’s own palm, the gauze wrapped around his hand. He quickly realizes he’s been staring into Billy’s eyes for an unhealthy amount of time, more than what can be considered a lingering gaze, so he clears his throat and chugs the rest of his beer. Perhaps what’s “normal” is still somewhat important to him.

 

Apparently thrown off by Steve’s intensity, Billy easily changes the direction of the conversation as he helps himself to the pack of Oreos.

 

“Heard you were a pretty decent baseball player,” he starts, twisting one half of the cookie off before he licks away the cream. “Why didn’t you play this year?”

 

“I was kinda busy with other things,” he shrugs and shoves a whole Fruit Roll-Up in his mouth. “Besides, my dad always made me play. I told him I just wasn’t feeling it this year.”

 

“And he believed you?” Billy’s eyebrows are drawn together in some form of suspicion or disgust; maybe both. “Like, he didn’t ask why?”

 

Steve’s a bit surprised. “Uh, no. He never asks questions.”

 

Once he’s said it, Steve realizes how shitty it sounds. How shitty it  _ is. _

 

“I mean, it’s not like I could’ve explained it to him anyway.” He’s not really sure why he’s attempting to defend his father. He just doesn’t like the way it makes his family look, like they never talk or do anything that matters. Even though that’s the absolute truth.

 

“Yeah,” Billy agrees but he sounds unsatisfied. He looks like he’s thinking, always thinking about things way above Steve’s understanding. “He still could’ve asked, though.”

 

Steve watches him eat the two cookie parts of his Oreo and nearly gags. “Dude, that is  _ not _ how you’re supposed to eat an Oreo.”

 

“Says the guy who just shoved an entire fucking Fruit Roll-Up down his throat!” Billy accuses and grabs a roll-up of his own. He tears the wrapper off and holds the snack out for Steve to see, raising his brows in demonstration. He then tears long strips of it away while Steve looks on in wordless horror, and when he’s done, he stacks the strips on top of one another and twists them together. “See? That’s how you do it.” He takes a bite of his horrible creation and smiles at Steve.

 

“You’re fucking insane.”

 

“I’d rather be insane than choke on a Fruit Roll-Up.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and chuckles helplessly when Billy dusts his hands off, smug. “Well, lemme show you how to eat an Oreo, ‘cause you do it all wrong.”

 

“Not true, but go ahead.” Billy knocks back the rest of his beer and opens two cans for himself and Steve. “Embarrass yourself.”

 

“That’s what I do best.” They both burst into a fit of laughter, and when they’re calm again, Steve takes an Oreo to demonstrate. Like Billy, he twists one cookie part off, but then he uses his finger to wipe the cream off the other cookie. “You’re supposed to save the best part for last,” he explains, ignoring the bird Billy’s giving him as he places the cookie bits together and eats them. He then sucks the cream off his finger with relish, happy with the glare Billy’s trying to give him while a smile ruins the effect. “See?”

 

“That was a sin.”

 

“Yeah, sure. I bet you’ve never even been to church.” Steve gulps down some of his beer; it always tastes better when he’s already been drinking.

 

“You’d be right,” Billy says as he tosses a potato chip into the air and catches it in his mouth.

 

“Your parents never made you go?” Steve’s careful to not ask specifically about Billy’s mom or dad. He figures Billy’s not a very open person on a good day, if their earlier interaction is any evidence, and he doesn’t want to sound too eager to know, despite the fact that he is.

 

“Just once, but,” Billy makes a face, sucks his teeth. “That was a bust. My…” he sighs and cocks his head a little. “Neil, my dad, he’s not religious like that. Like, he’ll talk about shit in the Bible and stuff but he doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying.” Billy eats some more chips and thinks for a second. “Your folks religious?”

 

“My mom more so than my dad. She’d drag me along to Sunday Mass until, well. Until recently, actually.” Steve does  _ not _ miss his stuffy church clothes, the smell of coffee breath and old people, or getting up early on a fucking Sunday to sing about Jesus or whatever.

 

“Lemme guess, you weren’t feeling up to it and she wasn’t curious enough to wonder why?”

 

Steve nods his head slowly.

 

“Well,” Billy makes a face, sort of smiling, sort of not at all. He takes his beer and holds it out to Steve. “To being sinners.”

 

Chuckling, Steve taps his can against Billy’s and they both chug down the rest of their beers.

 

Billy burps rather impressively and Steve stands, realizing with a happy sort of surprise that he’s a bit tipsier than planned. Still, he makes his way to the kitchen without incident and invites himself to investigate his parents’  _ special _ cupboard. He reaches into the way back, grabbing for that bottle of vodka he grew accustomed to as a sophomore. He wipes some dust off the neck of it and decides glasses won’t be necessary, confident he and Billy will finish it off tonight, no problem.

 

“Christ, Harrington,” Billy expresses, trying not to reveal how pleased he actually is. “If I knew you’d be breaking  _ that _ out tonight…”

 

“What, you wouldn’t’ve come?” Steve challenges, settling back down on the carpet. He twists the cap off the bottle.

 

“Didn’t say that,” Billy mumbles over the rim of his can. His eyes are on fire, Steve thinks, sparkling and burning a hole through him.

 

Steve takes a second to mentally prepare himself before taking the bottle to his lips and quickly tipping it back.  _ Oh, God. _ He swallows his mouthful of awful, bitter alcohol and ignores Billy’s chuckling.

 

Billy takes the bottle from him and eyes the rim thoughtfully before tipping it back, taking a shot. He barely cringes, obviously way more seasoned than Steve is. “That tastes like every horrible, sloppy night I’ve ever had.”

 

Steve chuckles and says, “Isn’t it-” he pauses upon noticing he’s already started to slur a little bit. “Isn’t it weird that vodka tastes more like a memory than anything else?”

 

Billy smiles a little at Steve and nods absentmindedly. He then takes the bottle to his mouth and, before taking a sip, says, “Hang on, I’m making a new memory.” He winks and takes a drink.

 

Steve’s face is burning as he reaches over and punches Billy’s knee. “Don’t make fun of me, ’m a fuckin’ poet.”

 

“Mhm,” Billy hums and offers him the bottle, washing down that horrid taste with his beer. He sighs and lies back on the floor, running his hands through his curls. “Seriously though, man, I’ve seen you swing a bat. I wish you played baseball.”

 

His brain takes a second to process Billy’s words. “Uh, thanks.”  _ What was that thing about swinging both ways? _ Oh, God, he’s gotta cool it with the liquor. And why does Billy keep bringing up baseball? “They were that bad without me, huh?”

 

“No,” Billy answers, easy as ever. “I just would’ve liked to see you play.”

 

And Steve has absolutely no words for that one. His mouth is suddenly very dry, so he drinks down some more beer and busies himself by eating a few Oreos (the  _ right _ way). Billy rises to his feet and moves to the bookcase where he bends down and reads the titles, his fingers running over their spines every now and then. Steve watches him from his place on the carpet, sprawled out, boozy and warm as he drinks his beer. Billy finds the stereo atop the bookcase and hits play on whatever’s been paused.

 

Steve grins when he hears Freddie Mercury’s voice sing softly through the thunder. He gives Billy a smug look when he looks over to him, feigning disappointment.

 

“No Queen slander, remember?” Steve hardly notices how he’s started dancing in his position on the floor.

 

“I remember, pretty boy,” Billy sighs and sits back on the floor, but not before turning the volume up significantly.

 

He takes another awful shot of the vodka before he can think about it, and then breaks out into song, not really giving a thought to how bad of a singer he is. Billy doesn’t laugh at him or anything, though, just listens to him with a lazy sort of grin on his face, every now and then throwing in a supportive, “Wow,” when Steve almost hits a high note.

 

They listen to the rest of the tape, drinking, laughing, and talking a little about everything and nothing at all (Billy only briefly brings baseball up again, once). Steve even gets Billy to clap along to  _ Radio Ga Ga. _

 

By the time the tape ends and Billy has started to search for another to play, Steve is on his feet and realizing just how truly drunk he is. He sways where he stands, his face all warm and a stupid grin plastered to his face.

 

“Someone’s got taste around here, huh?” Billy shows Steve the tape he’s got, wiggling his eyebrows. Steve thinks he’s got, like, flawless eyebrows.

 

“That,” Steve starts slowly, not wanting to slur and sound as drunk as he knows he is. God, he’s a lightweight. “Was made by my dad, I think. It’s got, like, The Who and Bon Jovi and Foreigner and some other shit on it. I dunno.”

 

Billy plays the tape and  _ Jukebox Hero _ immediately starts blaring. Billy cackles, seemingly pleased or amused or  _ whatever, _ Steve doesn’t mind so long as he’s laughing. And then he starts singing the words, to Steve’s delighted shock, and then they’re taking turns singing the verses, singing the chorus together, and Steve’s mind starts blanking in places, playing catch-up in others. One minute they’re dancing and singing, the next they’re seeing who can chug their beer faster (Billy wins and Steve has to take a shot of vodka). All the alcohol hits Steve at once, causing his head to swim but, fuck, he feels good, happy.

 

If he blacks out, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think billy writes in his journal?...


End file.
